I PR 4859 

.K3 

1832 
[Copy 1 



MORAL PLAYSj 



KEEP YOUR TEMPER! or KNOW 
WHOM YOU MARRY; 

A COMEDY: 

THE FATE OF IVAN; 

A N HISTORICAL TRA GED Y • 

AND 

MISS BETSY BULL; or THE 
JOHNNIES IN SPAIN; 

A MELO-DRAMA. 
BY A LADY. 



LONDON: 

CALKINandBUDD, 

BOOKSELLERS TO THE KING; 

PALL-MALL. 

1832. 






T. C. Hansard, Printer, Paternoster-n 




MOST EXCELLENT MAJESTY, 

THE COMEDY 

OF 

KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 

OR, 

KNOW WHOM YOU M A R R Y, 

IS MOST RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED 

BY 

THE AUTHOR. 



MADAM ;— 
A KNOW not to whom I can more appro- 
priately offer in the way of dedication, this 
a 2 



IV DEDICATION. 

trifling performance of the Comedy of KEEP 
YOUR TEMPER! than to your Majesty. 
The patient, the silent forbearance which your 
Majesty on many late and most trying occa- 
sions has uniformly preserved, as it cannot 
be too much respected and admired, proves 
your Majesty to be highly gifted in this 
most excellent and desirable of all qualifica- 
tions. 

In the effervescence of the public mind at 
this eventful period, when hundreds (forget- 
ting how difficult it is to judge of the truth, 
placed at so great a distance from them) 
have made your Majesty perpetually busy 
with the great political question ; I have 
dared to presume your Majesty calmly and 
confidently, and uointerferingly reposing on 
the exertions of the enlightened and patriotic 
body of the people. I have fancied you 
submitting to the repeated fatigues of draw- 
ing-rooms, solely to give a little additional 
spirit to trade in general, and as a pre- 
liminary commanding that the manufactures 
of England should alone be resplendent at 
your Court. I have imagined you turning 
with eagerness from the brilliant festivities at 



D E D I C A T I O N. V 

St. James's, and the ceremonies attendant on 
your exalted station, to fulfil the tender 
home-duties of relation, nurse, friend, and 
physician ; anxiously flying with all the speed 
of maternal affection, to watch the sick couch 
of an amiable and interesting niece. Example 
in all ages has been said to be more persuasive 
than precept, so we may now reasonably 
hope, that from general State reform, we 
shall proceed to private and individual amend- 
ment, and looking to the " very root of all 
evil, quietly search into our own hearts," and 
earnestly pray and endeavour after that moral 
and spiritual perfection which must make us 
rise still higher in the scale of surrounding 
nations — which may preserve to us the espe- 
cial blessing and protection of divine Pro- 
vidence, that we have so long, so eminently, 
so graciously shared and enjoyed : that we 
may hence, by our united efforts, be saved 
from all the horrors of civil commotion — all 
internal discord and rebellious strife — that 
we may feel assured that revolutions are the 
scourges of humanity — that they annihilate 
where amelioration is but wanting — that they 
purchase trifling, often merely contemptible 
privileges at the expense of the blood of 



VI DEDICATION. 

thousands, and injure on the side of perfec- 
tion in strengthening some unimportant weak 
part — but here, perhaps, if I go on, I may 
be digressing into matters equally unsuited 
to my capacity and inclination ; I will, there- 
fore, retreat whilst it is yet time, and sin- 
cerely wishing your Majesty all peace, health, 
and prosperity, 

I have the honor to remain, 

Your Majesty's 

Most devoted and obedient subject, 

H. St. A. K. 

May 20. 



HER ROYAL HIGHNESS 



PRINCESS VICTORIA, 



THE HISTORICAL PLAY 



THE FATE OF IVAN, 



IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED 



THE AUTHOR. 

A HIS being the anniversary of your Royal 
Highness's birth-day, amongst the many 



Vlli DEDICATION, 

testimonies of sincere affection which jour 
Royal Highness will receive from friends and 
relations, allow me to congratulate your 
Royal Highness on this important occasion, 
and to introduce to your particular notice in 
the Palace of Kensington, Catharine the 
Great, and the Princess Dashkoff; with 
whose history, I presume, your Royal High- 
ness is already well acquainted ; your Royal 
Highness will believe me when I say, I hope 
from my heart that they may meet with a 
gracious reception — but, however that may 
be, I shall not the less earnestly pray that 
your Royal Highness may see many, many 
happy returns of the day ; that every year, 
as it adds to your Royal Highnesses general 
information and amiable qualities, may add 
to your happiness and the happiness of every 
one deeply interested in your present and 
future destiny. 

I have the honor to be, 
With sincerity, 
Your Royal Highness's most devoted, 

H. St. A. K, 

May %UK 1832, 



THE MAJORS, 

DRURY LANE AND COVENT GARDEN, 

AND TO 

ALL THE MINORS, 

THE MELO-DRAMA 

OF 

MISS BETSY BULL; 

OR, 

THE JOHNNIES IN SPAIN, 

IS RESPECTFULLY INTRODUCED 



THE AUTHOR. 

A HE many difficulties attendant on private 
introductions of candidates to your notice ; 



DEDICATION, 



the numerous applications which doubtless 
you receive ; the general hurry of universal 
business, may frequently occasion different 
pieces to be overlooked, which, on leisure- 
consideration, might be deemed very appro- 
priate for representation. I have selected 
this little drama from the three in this volume, 
as the one, in my mind, the most calculated 
for scenic display ; and very glad I certainly 
should have been, to make Miss Betsy 
Bull profitable to myself in this way, but 
the chances are as a-thousand-to-one in such 
speculations, and I, therefore, give her to 
general notice, wishing that if ever she should 
make her appearance on the boards of any of 
your theatres, that she may be received with 
that indulgence and good humour so pecu- 
liarly characteristic of a British audience. 



I have the honour to be, 

H. St. A. K. 



June 1st, 1832. 



INTRODUCTORY DISCOURSE. 



A O extenuate some failure in the execution of the 
design ; to prepossess the mind of the reader in 
favour of the work he is about to undertake ; or to lead 
him to search into the nature of that kind of writing 
which it is possible he may not previously have 
considered, (thereby the better to enable him to form 
a precise judgment of the matter in question) we 
all know to be the general business of an introduc- 
tory discourse, a ceremony, with regard to the latter, 
not perhaps wholly unnecessary ; but with respect to 
the former, a useless preliminary, since there are few 
persons who have read a little generally, who are 
not capable of forming an opinion, independent of 
any prelusive argument, and who moreover, have 
not the inclination to judge for themselves — withal, 
it is a something expected — an established custom 
— a -sort of frame to a picture — a binding to a 
work. 

Voltaire observes that, " in a certain branch of 
literature, we cannot constantly have new works. 



Xll INTRODUCTORY DISCOURSE. 

that nature herself does not afford more than a 
dozen different characters :■' but is it not rather true 
that there is as great a variety in the character of 
the human species, as in their very countenances, 
and as in the common productions of nature ? 
Again, to form a good drama, it is not absolutely 
necessary that we should find beings of an extra- 
ordinary and novel cast. Let us place the twelve 
different characters which he admits, in situations 
contrary to those which have been their previous 
routine of action ; and we shall find that casualties, 
localities, varying circumstances, will call forth in 
those minds powers, talents, traits, qualities, and 
proceedings, which otherwise would not have dis- 
played themselves, been remarked, or even excited ; 
and may it not be as much the peculiar circum- 
stances in which the characters are placed, as any 
standard peculiarity in the characters themselves, 
which may give interest to the piece, and a stamp 
of originality and genuine merit to the production ? 
Some of our best English comedies will, I think, 
abundantly prove my supposition. In these trifling 
productions, no attempt has been made to introduce 
remarkable or ridiculous personages, yet there are 
some which may be called original ; to form variety 
in their company dramatic writers often find them- 
selves obliged to have recourse to delineate pecu- 
liarities of dress, of profession, of dialect, &c. ; 
these in some degree are subterfuges, very well ad- 
mitted as subservient to principals, but sometimes 



INTRODUCTORY DISCOURSE. Xlll 

injudiciously made the first persons in the drama. 
To develope those gradations of character which 
escape common observation, were, perhaps, more 
worthy the attention of authors of this cast; the 
shades are innumerable, the variety endless, the 
work never-failing : we all, generally speaking, pro- 
fess one system of divine law, we universally ac- 
knowledge a Supreme Power; but in the moral 
code almost every individual has a separate divinity, 
and what is precisely the god of one person's 
idolatry, is as frequently the object of another's in- 
difference, contempt, or aversion ; — here every man 
establishes a certain law of his own ; here, in a very 
small circle, we may find a great diversity, a decided, 
at the same time an amiable, dissimilarity, equally 
consistent as circumstances influence, equally conso- 
nant with the higher principles of right and wrong. 
Johnson has said so much, and remarked so wisely, 
on the breach of the unities, that it seems little 
necessary to apologize for the non-observance of 
them ; I have availed myself of the indulgence 
granted by so high an authority, of a few short 
weeks, but such is the unmerciful stretch now made 
on the privilege, that years and ages are galloped 
over from scene to scene, and from act to act ; and 
it may very fairly be presumed, that if we go on 
thus encroaching, in a short time we shall not only 
find heroes and heroines commencing and ending 
their own career with the piece, but living through- 
out the annual revolving drama, to establish their 



XIV INTRODUCTORY DISCOURSE. 

great-grand-children. It has become an invariable 
custom with those venders of medicines denomi- 
nated quacks, when they have any thing new to 
offer to the public, to send forth with their adver- 
tisements of the article they wish to recommend 
some credentials of the efficacy of their potions, to 
give a few letters gratis, as proof of their virtue, 
and, what is very convincing, from living and reno- 
vated subjects. In the introduction of the follow- 
ing letter, it may very well be said, that I consider 
the precedent in question a most judicious one, by 
following it so closely ; or being a novice in the 
business of publication, I foresee there is much to 
contend with, and, like a poor man drowning, am 
glad to catch at every straw, to save myself from 
sinking into the abyss of a long bill from the printer, 
to which otherwise the sale of the work might not 
be commensurate. To return — the comedy in ques- 
tion having been sent some few years ago, to one 
of the managers of Drury Lane, when only 
sketched out, as it were, he returned for answer : — 

" Mr. * * * * * presents his respectful compliments 
to the author of " Keep your Temper, &c., J ' has 
read with much pleasure the sketch, as she calls it, 
of her comedy. Mr. ***** particularly recommends 
the author to finish it according to her own sug- 
gestions ; the character of Roll and is original, and 
an excellent comic character. There is something 
very happily turned in Mrs. Woodly's excuse to 



INTRODUCTORY DISCOURSE. XV 

Lady Aubrette of Sir John's conduct — the subor- 
dinate persons are faithfully drawn. Mr. * * * * * 
advises the author to continue writing, as he feels 
persuaded that," &c. &c. 

This complimentary manager being dead, I have 
not the same advantage as the doctors, to whom I 
have just alluded, of referring to such a number, such 
a street, in support of the truth : the piece, however, 
was finished according to the advice given, and some 
time afterwards was sent to the Inspector of all 
Plays, in the presumption that he might have it in 
his power to promote its interests with some of the 
managers in the way of representation, if, on reading 
it, he should approve the comedy ; having examined 
it, he procured the licence of the Lord Chamberlain, 
for its being performed at any theatre ; but as 
managers are not obliged to have the same taste as 
those who look into the merits of such productions, 
ex officio, and as they are some seasons so completely 
stocked, that they cannot give promises as to any time 
of bringing out plays offered to them, I presume the 
routine of the business should have been for the 
comedy to. have been accepted by some of the 
theatres in the first instance, and the licence to have 
been solicited in the second. 

And now having said all that I can through the 
medium of others in favour of this trifling perform- 

* Sec page 3. 



XVI INTRODUCTORY DISCOURSE. 

ance, I think it advisable to reserve as concluding 
matter, any thing that I may have to say against it, 
for to give an unfavourable impression in the first 
instance is in all concerns an injudicious proceed- 
ing, it is what no one is expected to do expressly 
of himself, and true policy in such a case prompts 
the candidate either for fame or for profit, cautiously 
to avoid the path of singularity. 



KEEP 



KEEP YOUR TEMPER ! 



OR, 



KNOW WHOM YOU M A R R Y. 



& Otomrtrp, in ffti>% &ct£* 



DRAMATIS PERSONS 



Sir Rupert Gainsford. 

Gilbert, his soyi. 

Sir John Aubrette. 

Rolland. 

Arthur. 

Dr. Linton. 

FlELDtNG. 

Tom, Servant to Fielding. 
Richard, Servant to Sir John Aubrette. 
Patrick, Servant to Mrs. Woodly. 
Doctors boy, other Servants, <^c. 

Lady Aubrette, wife to Sir John. 

Lucy, daughter to Sir Rupert Gainsford. 

Mrs. Woodly, sister to Sir Rupert Gainsford. 

Gertrude, her Protegte. 

Mrs. Roper, Housekeeper to Mrs. Woodly. 

Scene lies at Richmond, at London, and at a village 
distant from town. 



JLT having been represented to me, by the 
Examiner of all Theatrical Entertainments, 
that a Manuscript entitled " Keep your Tem- 
per, or Know whom you Marry," being a 
Comedy, in 'Five Acts, does not contain in it 
anything immoral, or otherwise improper for 
the Stage, I, the Lord Chamberlain of His 
Majesty's Household, do, by virtue of my Office, 
and in pursuance of the Act of Parliament in 
that case provided, allow the said Manuscript 
to be performed at your Theatre, zvithout any 
variation whatsoever, unless such variation be 
likewise approved of by me in due form. 

MONTROSE. 



B 2 



KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 



ACT T. 

SCENE I. — A Room in Sir Rupert Gainsford's 
house. 

Enter Sir Rupert, Gilbert following. 

Sir Rupert. PsHAW, pshaw ! I tell thee, Gil- 
bert, every thing there displeased me — I never 
met with any thing worthy of notice, nothing to 
attract the attention of a rational and well-in- 
formed mind. 

Gil. Pardon me, Sir, if I presume to think that 
is utterly impossible ; grant, indeed, that you had 
frequently visited these scenes, and that mere 
familiarity might have rendered uninteresting to 
you, all those exhibitions, which must have a thou- 
sand charms for a young, and ardent mind. 

Sir Rupert. Ardent ! aye, aye, there's the 
danger ; now come my punishments. [Apart] I 
tell you, it is a filthy place, this same London that 
you are so mad after, why, there is no seeing 
through their dirty windows. 

Gil. I shall be always outside. 



6 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 

Sir Rupert. There thou wilt find tubs of rose- 
trees, pots of myrtle, boxes of mignionette, plates 
of daisies, dishes of mary golds, oh! mockery of 
the beauties of nature, besmeared with the dust 
which the wind hourly and liberally pours upon 
them ; this constitutes the flower-garden, and then, 
if there fortunately be a yard of ground at the back 
part of the dwelling, it is as regularly set with cab- 
bage plants and potatoes, mint, parsley, sage, and 
thyme ! and this forms the kitchen-garden. 

Gil. But I am not in the search of gardens of 
any description. It is the advancement of the arts, 
the progress of science, the perfection of Genius, 
the 

Sir- Rupert. Perversion of man's taste, that 
leads him to prefer the pollution of cities, to the 
unsophisticated charms of rural life. 

Gil. But by practically proving the vanity and 
insufficiency of the one, are we not more likely to 
become immutably enamoured of the other ? 

Sir Rupert. Aye, Gilbert, I see thou canst be 
eloquent enough in a bad cause, but, in forcing 
upon ourselves experimental conviction, how often 
do we plant in the bosom a thorn, which we cannot 
afterwards eradicate ? 

Gil. Tell me, Sir, frankly, are not the public 
buildings worthy my attention ? 

Sir Rupert. Fudge ! fudge ! there's scarcely a 
mansion in the whole metropolis, to be compared 
with this ; why my very pigs are better lodged than 
many fine people in that great city. And as for 
that huge pile called St. Paul's, can any body say 



A COMEDY. 7 

for what purpose it was made so big ; why, it is 
a fact, Sir, that the part in this immense Church 
allotted for the service is not much larger than the 
vestry room of this parish. 

Gil. The religious part of the community was 
not so numerous, probably, in former days, as it now 
is ; it appears we improve. 

Sir Rupert. In short, this same London is a 
rigmarole overgrown place, without either form or 
fashion ; I doubt if any one can tell on what plan it 
was originally built, or if it was built on any plan at 
all. 

Gil. But what is that to the purpose ? Why 
give me books, pictures of mankind, and not allow 
me to see the real representation ? 

Sir Rupert. Books, son, have not given thee 
this taste, it is the idle conversation of the wander- 
ing multitude that has seduced thee ; fools, and worse 
than fools, who, on returning from the great city, 
puff every block which they have met, to escape the 
censure of having travelled far and seen nothing ; 
thus, are the minds of youth inflamed with a passion 
for novelty which, in the end, fails not to disgust 
them with home scenes, and domestic enjoyment. 

Gil. Would you have me then, Sir, stuck up in 
this corner of the world all my life, like one of your 
cabbage plants ? are not my principles fixed, Sir ? 

Sir Rupert. I hope so, Gilbert, I hope so. 

Gil. Could any thing on earth induce me even 
to enter a gaming-house 1 

Sir Rupert. I believe not, Gilbert, I believe 
not. 



8 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 

Gil. I have made a solemn promise to myself, 
that no mortal ever shall persuade me to approach 
such a door — I will make you the same promise. 

Sir Rupert. Well, well. 

Gil. You know my opinion of duelling. 

Sir Rupert. True, true, but the wisest will 
sometimes err ; happy is he who is not exposed to 
temptation. 

Gil. I do not say so, Sir ! radicate principle, 
expose it to trial, and you then perfect the man. 

Sir Rupert. Or ruin him, perhaps beyond re- 
demption ! prevention is my maxim. 

Gil. Perseverance my motto. 

Sir Rupert. Alas, alas ! 

Gil. I know that I am sanguine, perhaps what 
some persons may call hot-headed, but, have I ever 
once in my life, given you any serious cause of 
uneasiness ? 

Sir Rupert. Not as yet — not as yet. 

Gil. Of what, then, are you afraid ? 

Sir Rupert. Ah ! my son, there are so many 
evil accidents befalling us, on the high road of life, 
that no mortal wisdom can foresee, no human pru- 
dence avert, that with the best dispositions we may 
be overthrown ; let us not, therefore, court danger, 
let us not presume too much on our own strength. 

Gil. Oh ! all this is making of a simple jour- 
ney, a matter of too serious import. 
. Sir Rupert, [apart.'] Ah ! I must be punished. 

Enter Lucy, a basket of fruit in her hand. 

Lucy. Oh papa! see what the last night's 



A COM ED V. 9 

storm has done for us, all these, and they are but 
half ripe. 

Sir Rupert. Take 'em away ! take 'em away ! 

[Sir Rupert walks about in evident emotion. 
Gil. This is unfortunate. 

[Gilbert signs to "Lucy— -she retreats hiding 
the basket as she moves, and puts it into a 
closet. 

Enter Roll and, a whip in his hand. 

Roll. Tantivy ! tantivy ! [perceiving Lucy, 
then turning to Sir Rupert — ] Ha, my Gracia, 
Fallacia ! is it you ? What is your daughter's 
name, Sir Rupert? — so much enamoured of her 
various perfections, I always forget the little no- 
minative indicative of the charming superlative ! 

Sir Rupert. Fudge ! 

Lucy. Some call me Rose, the poets Delia fair ; 

Some swains less courteous, boldly oft declare, 
Nor wit nor grace doth simple Lucy boast, 

And wonder how she grew the village toast. 

Roll. Well, then, my Delia bright, my Rose, I 
say; 

Does my friend Gilbert dine at home to-day ? 

[turning to Gilbert. 
Your rhyme is quite infectious, Miss Gainsford. 

[Lucy and Gilbert converse. 

Sir Rupert. , Pray, Sir, is your father at home ? 

Roll. Certainty, Sir, I believe I can answer for 
that ; he is at home at all times, frequently before he 
puts his stockings on in a morning, he is very glad 



JO KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 

of the assistance of any of his neighbours in cutting 
his corns ; so that if you are at all accomplished in 
the art 

Sir Rupert. Tell him, I shall dine with him to- 
day, [impatiently. 

Roll. Most obliging ! by all means ! tantivy, 
tantivy ; a fine stag is to be turned out to-day ; 
you'll go, won't you, Gilbert ? 

Gil. No, it is quite impossible ; in three minutes 
I shall be on the high road to London. 

Roll, [to Sir Rupert.] Is it possible, Father 
Cautious, you can have been persuaded to give 
consent to that ? 

Sir Rupert. To what, pray Sir? 

[Lucy signs to Rolland to be silent. 

Roll. Why, Sir, to pay the powder-tax these 
hard times. 

[Rolland lightly touches Sir Rupert's wig, 
from which the powder abundantly flies. 

Sir Rupert. Pray, Sir, tell your father I wish to 
investigate with him the title-deeds to the estate of 
Beekelfield, and that I shall come early. 

[Edit Gilbert. 

Roll. Most obliging ! the sooner the more 
agreeable, doubt not. [apart.] The old rogue 
wants me gone already — this estate of Beekelfield, 
I presume, may be thought of as a marriage settle- 
ment ; you contemplate the purchase in case I 
should determine, you understand ? I say, Lucy, 
my love 

Sir Rupert. How, Sir ? 

Roll. You will dine with us also ? 



A COMEDY. 11 

Sir Rupert. No, Sir, slie will not. 
Lucy. No ; certainly not ; I have not studied at 
the feet of Gamaliel, I have no acquaintance with 
Blackstone ; I have no opinion on the dull subject 
of title-deeds. 

Roll. But we can parley apart, my beloved, 

[Sir Rupert walks impatiently about. 
Lucy. What of hunting the stag ; I have no 
taste that way either. 

Roll. Can one talk of the stag or the law when 
you are present ? 

Sir Rupert. If you cannot immediately take my 
message, pray say so, and I will send a servant. 

Roll. Very proper, indeed ! but, however, I am 
going home — with a heigh — [goings returns.'] ho ! 
chevy ! hark forward ! hark forward tantivy ! Shall 
I tell dad you'll come at four ? 

Sir Rupert. No, in an hour I shall be with him. 
Roll. Very good ! [going, returns.'] What 
shall we have for dinner ? 
Sir Rupert. Fudge ! 
Roll. Adieu, my Arethusa bright, 

Your bloom, without your wealth, a weaker 

wight 
Than Hercules, might tempt to knock the 

dragon down, 
A better prize than his, the toil would crown ! 

[to Lucy. 
See how you have inspired me. 
Lucy. Go, Sir ! get you gone, 
Or you will find more dragons here than one. 
Roll. True love is all obedience. [going. 



12 keep Your temper ! 

Sir Rupert. . Prfthee dream no more of tliat.-- 
Roll. I lov'd a maid, she me betray 'd, 
Good care I'll take so don't another. 

The chace shall be my mistress, she 
Will prove more kind than any other ! 
With a heigh ho ! chevy, hark forward ! hark 
forward, tantivy ! [Exit Roll a nix. 

[Sir Rupert holds up his cane in a menacing 
manner after Roll and as he is going out. 
Sir Rupert. Come, Rose, we will take a turn 
round the shrubbery, and see what the last night's 
storm has done there. 

Lucy. Lean on my arm, papa, you are still a 
little lame from your last attack of the gout. 

[As they are going out on one side, Roll a nit 
enters at the other. 
Roll. I say Lucy, my love, shall I call upon 
you this evening ? 

[Sir Rupert hurries away ; Roll and affects 
to pursue them. 



SCENE \\.—An Apartment in Mrs. Woodly's 
House. 

Mrs. Woodly reading a Letter. 

[Mrs. Woodly reads] — " In short, I can no longer 
resist his pressing importunities, ardent, and half- 
ignorant of the world as he is, I tremble for the 
event ; I must, therefore, entreat you to watch over 
him with parental anxiety, for were I to accompany 



A COMEDY. 13 

him, I should only be considered as a spy upon his 
actions, and that might, eventually, lessen the con- 
fidence which has hitherto subsisted between us, 
I depend, however, much on your care and affection. 
Be not surprised if he should arrive a few minutes 
after the receipt of this letter. 

I remain, in the utmost affliction, 

GAINSFORD." 
Oh ! what an unexpected stroke is this ! which 
way shall I turn ? what is to be done ? what plan 
shall I adopt ? shall I declare to him the 
whole truth ? the painful truth ! No ! I cannot— 
yet, when I consider the power of virtue, intelli- 
gence, and beauty, on an unsophisticated mind, I 

feel it would be best alas! alas! could I dream 

that this anxiety was to be the fruit of my cares ? 

Enter Patrick. . ."..» 

Pat. Lady Aubrette, your honor. [Exit Patrick. 
Mrs. Wood. It is well, a thought, a happy 
thought occurs. 

Enter Lady Aubrette. 

Lady Anb. Ah, my dear Mrs. Woodly, how d'ye" 
do ? I am come to claim your promise 

Mrs. Woodly. And I must again have recourse 
to your indulgence to plead my excuse, I am not 
sufficiently recovered to leave home at present. 

Lady Aub. Is this really the case ?— and Ger- 
trude ? 

. Mrs. Woodly. She is quite at your, service for 
the whole of the summer. 



14 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 

Lady Aub. I am delighted with that arrange- 
ment, for securing the one is half gaining possession 
of the other. 

Mrs. Wood. And where is Sir John ? 

Lady Aub. He stopt at the door to speak to 
young Melville, but already I hear him. 

Enter Sir John, bowing. 

Sir John. I have the pleasure to see Mrs. 
Woodly better ? 

Mrs. Wood. Though by no means recovered — 
I thank you, Sir John. 

Lady Aub. [Throws herself into a chair, .] Ah ! 
misericorde ! how fatigued I am ! that rugged ride 
you made me take yesterday, Sir John. 

Sir John. I thought twould have prevented 
your having the vapours to-day, my Lady. 

Mrs. Wood. Allow me to offer you some re- 
freshment. 

Lady Aub. Excuse me, madam, I cannot take 
any thing. I see, Sir John, one may die very 
quietly in your presence. 

Sir John. Surely I could not think of disturb- 
ing the last moments of one so dear to me. 

Lady Aub. Oh, Sir John, you are the most pro- 
voking of men. 

Sir John. I think we might both improve our- 
selves. Excuse the liberty we take in your pre- 
sence, madam. 

Mrs. Wood. No ceremony, I entreat. 

Lady Aub. I shall return home immediately. 
[Lady Aubrette rings. 



A COMEDY. 15 

Sir John. But compose your spirits, my love — 
be a little calm. 

Lady Aub. I hate calmness, and all calm 
people. 

Enter Patrick. 

Call my carriage immediately. [Patrick going. 

Sir John. Order mine to wait till I come. 

. [Patrick going, returns. 

Lady Aub. Obey my orders ! 

Sir John. You have heard me ? 

Pat. Sure, your honor, I can obey both, first 
I will call the coach for my lady, and then tell 
him to wait for his lordship. [Exit Patrick. 

Lady Aub. [to Mrs. Woodly.] Is this to be 
endured ? 

Mrs. Wood. My dear Lady Aubrette, let me 
entreat you 

Lady Aub. No, no ! we shall see who will be 
obeyed. [Exit hastily Lady Aubrette. 

Mrs. Wood. Lady Aubrette is very young. 

Sir John. True, true, I have not to complain 
exactly of her being a termagant, but she is a com- 
position of extravagancies infinitely more difficult 
of cure, and if the evil be not rooted out in the 
beginning, it is evident no social happiness can be 
expected in the end. 

Mrs. Wood. I hope much from time and your 
good management ; and then Lady Aubrette pos- 
sesses a superior understanding. 

Sir John. I am satisfied as to that, and am, 



16 KEEP YOUR TEMPER ! 

therefore, encouraged to proceed — 'but. I 'hear 'her 
returning — I will, if you please, retire by this door, 
and in the moment take possession of the disputed 
vehicle. 

Mrs. Wood. By all means, Sir John, and my 
carriage is at her ladyship's service. 

Sir John. In the interim, I leave her to your 
very good counsel. [Exit Sir John. 

Mrs. Wood. Depend upon me. I hope this 
delay may not prove unfortunate to my plans. 

Re-enter hastily Lady Aubrette looking about. 

Lady Aub. Where is the monster, madam ? 
. Mrs. Wood. Oh, he very calmly left me by that 
door. 

, Lady Aub. Tell me, madam, is this treatment to 
be endured ? 

. Mrs* Wood. Certainly, it ought not to be con- 
tinued. 

Lady Aub. There have I been sitting all this 
time in the carriage, and the creature would not 
move a jot ; in vain I threatened and abused him, 
he remained like a cucumber in its bed ; obeyed im- 
plicitly the orders of his tyrannical master, and 
fearful of a mob gathering round me, I was at last 
obliged to return — tell me, madam, was this right ? 

Airs. Wood. Very far from it, indeed ! and, tho' 
we do promise a sort of obedience at the altar 

Lady Aub. We do not vow to obey, if the men 
should be unreasonable in commanding us. 



A COMEDY. ]? 

]\Irs. Wood. Good ! yet we cannot marry on 
conditional terms, and 

Lady Aub. Truly, the marriage act has great 
need of amendment ! 

Mrs. Wood, Let us sit — you are fatigued [Mrs. 
Woodly draws chairs and they sit.] Sir John 
appears to be incessantly reproving you. 

Lady Aub. Continually, my dear Mrs. Woodly, 
everlastingly ! 

Mrs. Wood. And, perhaps, frequently condemns 
you without any just reason. 

Lady Aub. Every hour of his life, madam ! 

Mrs. Wood. To what may we attribute all this ? 

Lady Aub. Oh ! to the caprice, the madness, 
the overbearing spirit of the sex. 

Mrs. Wood. I think not, exactly : it arises partly, 
I believe, from his excessive vanity. 

Lady Aub. My dear Mrs. Woodly, I am charmed 
with your penetration — excessive vanity, indeed. 

Mrs. Wood. And still more from his extreme 
love for 

Lady Aub. For whom, in the name of pity ? 

Mrs. Wood. His very great love for you. 

Lady Aub. How can that be ? explain. 

Mrs. Wood. Such is his extraordinary attach- 
ment, that he never appears to abstract his mind a 
moment from you — not a syllable you utter escapes 
him — and of the most trifling inadvertencies, that a 
being to whom you were perfectly indifferent would 
scarcely discover if pointed out, Sir John seizes 
the moment, and investigates each error with all the 
scrutiny of an alchymist ; this certainly proves the 



18 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 

strength of his attachment, and the height of his 
vanity is equally manifested, or he would not be so 
very anxious to render superior to the slightest 
mortal imperfection the person thus nearly related 
to himself, and thus tenderly beloved. 

Lady Auk Ah, could I think so— but yet what a 
strange method he takes to make me superior: but— 

Airs. Wood. The best artists often err in the ex- 
ecution, when they have not been faulty in tli£ 
design. 

Lady Aub. But seriously now, Mrs. Woodly, 
what do you consider my most remarkable fail- 
ings ? 

Mrs. Wood. Oh, excuse me, I must leave them 
for Sir John to discover. 

Lady Aub. With a microscopic eye ! 

Mrs. Wood. True ! but if one could prevent him 
discovering any 

Lady Aub. Ah, that, indeed, were an utter im- 
possibility, and certainly the gross exists in the 
man's imagination. 

Mrs. Wood. He determines, however, to root 
out the evil which he fancies he sees, and how 
calmly persevering he is. 

Lady Aub. A perfect mule ! 

Mrs. Wood. Whom it is in vain to attempt to 
lead or drive ; nothing moves him. 

Lady Aub. It is precisely that which pro- 
vokes me ! if I could but once put him out of hu- 
mour 

Mrs. Wood. I think it is hardly possible. 

Lady Aub. Well, if ever it should be my fate to 



A COMEDY. 19 

be left a widow, never, no, never will I marry 
again ! 

JMrs. Wood. But, when once one has entered 
the state, it is as well to seek contentment in it, 
and 

Lady Aub. How, in the name of reason ? 

Mrs. Wood. By mutual endeavours to oblige ; 
one must be • 

Lady Aub. So ridiculously obedient ! 

Mrs. Wood. No, no ! only amiably attentive ; 
patient, when reproved ; not bearing in mind little 
trifling offences, and, by way of prefatory practice, 
promise to say nothing of this affair of the coach on 
your return home ; endeavour 

Lady Aub. I will; but, upon my honor, it is 
so very impudent an affair ! [looking at her ivatch.~] 
It is late ; I will just leave an order at the mercer's, 
and return for Gertrude. 

Mrs. Wood. Do, my dear friend ; you shall not 
have to wait one moment for her ; pray use all dis- 
patch to precede Sir John. 

Lady Aub. I saw your carriage at the door. 

Mrs. Wood. It is quite at your service ; I rely 
on your promptitude, and will instantly hasten 
Gertrude. 

Lady Aub. In the mean time, should Sir John 
return hither, do not fail to lecture him on his 
vanity. 

Mrs. Wood. I will not forget. 

[Exeunt together. 



c 2 



20 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 

SCENE HI.— 4 Library. 

Enter Mrs. Woodly. 

Mrs. Wood. How thankful I am that Lady 
Aubrette is gone, and that Gertrude will soon be 
out of this house ! Yet how oppressed I feel — what 
a prophetic sadness sits at my heart ! — alas, if this 
simple concealment, originating from the best 
motives, can thus affect me, what must be their 
feelings who are burdened with the consciousness 
of guilt ? [Rings. 

Enter Patrick. 

Pray where is Mrs. Roper? 

Pat. Your pardon, madam, but that is quite 
impossible to tell ; gossiping, I dare say, in some 
corner of the town, talking scandal of every body 
in the house, not accepting even your honor. 

Mrs. Wood. Desire her to come to me as soon 
as she returns. [Sits to a table and begins to write. 

Pat. I will, your honor — but there never was 
such a wasp as Madam Roper. 

[Exit Patrick ; as he is going out, Mrs. Roper 
enters from the opposite side, and overhears 
- the last words. 

Mrs. Roper. Now to think of the impudence of 
that plebeian, he has been abusing me slily. 

Mrs. Wood, [looking up.] Oh ! you are here, 
then, Roper? 

Mrs. Roper. Your pardon, madam ; I have not 



A COMEDY. 21 

been out ten minutes, but there is such a set of 
mischievous people in this place. 

Mrs. Wood. Roper, I do not complain, it is of 
no consequence so lam satisfied. 

Mrs. Roper. It is impossible for a gentlewoman 
to brook it, and 

Mrs. Wood. Hear me now, Roper, I wish to 
have the two spare rooms in the left wing imme- 
diately prepared, they will, probably, be wanted 
this very evening. 

Mrs. Roper. Very well, madam, it shall be done 
immediately ; only I was going to observe, that I 
could not live with that piece of vulgarity. 

Mrs. Wood. Another time I will attend to your 
grievances — but now there must not be any delay — 
order dinner an hour earlier than usual — and, if 
any stranger should arrive before I return, shew him 
into this room, and say I shall be at home very 
soon. [Apart.'] I pray that he may not arrive this 
day. [Exit Mrs, Woodly. 

Mrs. Roper. Very well, madam, [looking out 
after her.] Let herself out ! What can be in the 
wind ? Humph ! humph ! humph ! really my lady 
begins to command me like a common servant in 
the house — but I see how it is, that low-bred creature 
has been forging a packet of lies of me to my mistress, 
and she, poor easy woman, believes all she hears — 
well, ladies are strange sort of ladies now-a-days, to 
be listening to the tales of such varlets — but I 
wonder what can be in the wind, now ? both bed- 
rooms to be got ready ! — first, however, let me be 



22 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 

even with my gentleman, I'll give him a drubbing, 
or my name's not Roper. [She rings very loudly. 

Enter Patrick. 

So, Sir, for once you have condescended to answer 
my bell ? [Patrick looking about him with surprise. 

Pat. What, then, is not her honor here ? 

Mrs. Roper. Yes, Sir, her honor is here ! 
[drawing herself up.] And so, Mr. Impudence, you 
call me a wasp, do you ? 

Pat. And did her honor really tell you that ? 

Mrs. Roper. And so you thought I was not in 
the confidence of my Mistress, eh ? but I'll teach 
you to tell lies of me, you ungrateful — have I not, 
time after time, given you of the sweets of the 
store-room ? 

Pat. Ah, yes, indeed, Madam Roper, but that 
was to qualify the pickles you obliged me to 
swallow. 

Mrs. Roper. How many a cordial glass have 
you had from me ? 

Pat. Whenever I caught you taking a sly drop, 
as your ill luck would have it. 

Mrs. Roper. Will you promise never to talk 
scandal of me again ? Will you, I say 1 

[Shaking his shoulders. 

Pat. Ods my life, without— [a loud knocking 
and ringing.! all this ceremony. 

Mrs. Roper. Alack a day ! I shall be caught. 

[Running about 



A COMEDY. 23 

Pat. And that in a vile bad action, Madam 
Roper — [Knocking and ringing again. 

]\lrs. Roper. Where are my keys ? Where are 
my keys ? [running about.] Is the porter at the 
door ? Blockhead, what are you doing here ? 

Pat. Your honor forgets that she rang for me. 
Sure your honor sometimes forgets herself like 
many other great folks. [Exit Patrick. 

Mrs. Roper. Stupid fool ! — this comes of stop- 
ping here to take revenge ! My keys, my keys, 
what shall I do ? Suppose the strangers should be 
come. {Exit hastily, Mrs. Roper. 

! Pat, [speaking without.] This way, your honor, 
this way ! 

Enter Patrick, Gilbert following. 

Gil. Be so -good as to tell my servant to give 
you the paper- case at the back of the carriage. 
[Exit Patrick.] So far, friend Rolland, I am safe, 
in spite of your prophecies, and my father's fore- 
bodings. 

Re-enter Patrick with a small Portfolio, which lie 
places on a Table. 

GiL At what time do you expect Mrs. Woodly 
home ? 

Pat. Every moment, sure, your honor, for 
dinner is ordered an hour sooner than usual, only 
Madam Roper has lost her keys, and that may put 
us all back, perhaps, and 

Gil. Who is Madam Roper? 



24 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 

Pat. The housekeeper here, Sir, who will soon 
scrape acquaintance with you— but I would have 
you beware of her, she is deep. 

Gil. Thank you, friend ! thank you ! [apart.]' 
From the Green Isle, I presume. 

Pat. Ah, believe me, she's a wasp, that has- not 
a civil word for any one, except my lady's Prodijay. 

Gil. Now what can that be 1 some parrot, or 
monkey, I suppose. 

Pat. Then, if it is not the prettiest and quietest 
of the kind, Patrick O'Laughligan never saw the 
land of Saints. 

Gil. He seems inclined to communicate, if he 
did but know how. [apart.] In plain English, 
who, or what is it ? 

Pat. To be sure, your honor, it is a young lady. 

Gil. But what is her name ? [impatiently.'] Has 
she no name ? 

Pat. No ! never a one, your honor. 

Gil. A very extraordinary lady indeed! no 
name ! [apart.] This fellow's intelligence only 
serves to put one more in the dark. You mistake, 
friend ! she must have a name ! 

Pat. Oh, yes, yes ! Have a little patience ; I do 
recollect more about it, she has a name ; but nobody 
believes it to be her true name, they say it is a 
sham — they call her Stanley, sometimes. 

Gil. Stanley, Stanley ! I do not recollect such 
a name in any of Mrs. Woodly's letters, but has 
she no relations, no friends — no father — no mother ? 

Pat. [earnestly.'] No, your honor, I don't hear 
that ever she had. 



A COMEDY. 'CO 

Gil. Good ! — what can I make of all this? It 
appears, then, that there is some mystery about this 
young lady ? 

Pat. Oh ! a very great deal ? for I don't find 
that Mrs. Roper with all her learning has been able 
to find it out, and every body seems mighty curious 
about her, and I think, Sir, as how you are pretty 
much infected in the same way. 

Gil. Be that as it may, I shall hear the whole 
story from Mrs. Woodly. 

Pat. No you wont, sure, your honor, and, as I 
see you are a stranger here, let me give you a bit 
of advice. 

Gil. Thank you, friend ! thank you ! proceed. 

Pat. Take care, then, what questions you ask 
about young Miss, if you would keep in with the 
old lady, my very good mistress, whom I love with 
all my shoul. 

Gil. Proceed with 

Pat. Her honor has offended many of her 
quality friends, because they asked questions that 
were not quite agreeble, you understand ? 

Gil. Perfectly ! perfectly ! and thank you for 
the hint. [A knock at the door. 

Pat. Your lordship will excuse me for a minute, 
you see the porter is out. [Exit Patrick. 

Gil. This man is, certainly, one of his own 
country, and a very agreeable natural, in truth — but 
who comes this way ? [looking out.] I will retreat 
a little, for this, if I mistake not, must be the 
prodigy or protegee. 
[Gilbert retires to the further part of the Stage. 



26' KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 

Enter Gertrude, who, not perceiving Gilbert, 
throws herself into a Chair. 

Gert. Well, well, I am prepared according to 
order, but oh, my heart, I feel as if I were never to 
return here ! I feel as if I could not survive the 
grief that oppresses me — when I entreated to stay, 
Mrs. Woodly insisted in the most peremptory 
manner — I never knew her insist before — forbid to 
wait her return ! What can all this mean ? 

Gil. [advances and bows.] Pardon me, madam, 
I ought sooner to have apologized for this intrusion, 

but the surprise of the moment 

. Gert. [looking astonished.] I, I do not recol- 
lect 1 mean 

Gil. If you are an inmate of this house, 
madam, I presume you will readily guess who 
I am ? 

Gert. I am, indeed, Sir, an inmate here, yet I 
am totally ignorant who it is I have the honor to 
address. 

Gil. Then it is evident Mrs. Woodly did not 
expect her nephew in town so soon ? 

Gert. Mrs. Woodly's nephew ! you, Sir ! par- 
don me, I did not know that you were expected at 
all. 

Gil. Ah ! I see how it is, my father's letter 
apprising my aunt of my intention, has not reached. 
In fact, I set off almost at an hour's notice. 
. Gert. Certainly, certainly, she cannot know of 
your coming, or, perhaps, she might not have 
insisted on my leaving at this precise time- 



A COMEDY. 27 

Gil. [apart."] Excellent! You have, then, 
been some time resident with Mrs. Woodly, 
madam ? 

Gert. Oh yes ! many, many happy years ; I 
have read to her, have written for her, have visited 
with her the sick and the needy — and now, for the 
first time, I am to leave her — perhaps for ever ! 

Gil. But I will plead with Mrs. Woodly for 
your remaining, she cannot refuse a nephew whom 
she has not seen these fourteen years. 

Gert. Oh ! no, no, no ! I believe it will be 
best to be silent — a second thought convinces me it 
will be in vain — she has insisted so peremptorily, I 
must not urge ! 

Gil. Would she would return ! But is it a great 
distance, is it a long journey you are about to 
take ? {Earnestly. 

Gert. Ten miles ! 

Gil. Ho, ho, ten miles, only ten miles! why 
that is nothing. Oh compose your spirits. 

Enter Mrs. Roper, hastily crossing the Stage. 

Gert. Stay, Roper, only one moment, I entreat 
you. 

Mrs. Roper. My dear Miss, I am in so much 
haste. 

Gert. Tell me, then, in one word, did you know 
that this gentleman was to be here to day? 

Mrs. Roper. Yes, to be sure, dear Miss Ger- 
trude, it is that which makes me run so fast. 

[Exit hastily, Mrs. Roper. 

Gert. I am lost in astonishment ! 



28 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 

Gil. Upon my honor, I begin to consider myself 
of less importance amongst my relations than I had 
presumed. So my aunt has received the news, and 
did not think it worth communicating to her most 
particular friend. 

Gert. The more I think, the more I am per- 
plexed. 

Enter Patrick. 

Pat. Lady Aubrette., your honor. [Exit Patrick. 

Enter hastily Lady Aubrette. 

Lady Aub. My dear Gertrude, I have been 

detained rather longer 

[Perceiving Gilbert, she stops. 

Gert. Mr. Gainsford, Mrs. Woodly's nephew > 
Lady Aubrette. [Introducing them. , 

Lady Aub. Mrs. Woodly's nephew ! how's this? 
I did not know Mrs. Woodly expected her nephew 
in town? Only think, my dear, how we married 
women are kept in the dark. 

Gert. And I can prove to you, my dear Lady 
Aubrette, that the single ones are not better treated^ 
for I knew not a syllable that this gentleman was 
expected, and yet it appears that Mrs. Roper was 
fully informed. 

Lady Aub. How incomprehensible ! there must 
be some mystery in all this ; some plot ■ 

Gert. But I cannot imagine what. 

Lady Aub. Ah, that will come out presently ; 
now I am determined to be even with them — a 



A COMEDY. 29 

thought strikes me ! a good idea — Mr. Gainsford, I 
trust you will frequently honor us with your visits 
at Richmond — I will introduce you to the ty, ty, to 
Sir John Aubrette ; [apart] (tho', by the bye, not 
immediately.) It is a charming ride from town. 

Gil. Your ladyship does me infinite honour, and 
I know not how better to express my gratitude than 
by accepting your invitation the very first oppor- 
tunity ; I hear we have an early dinner ; this very 
evening, then, perhaps ■ 

Lady Anb. Do, pray, my dear Sir, I am certain 
you will be enchanted with the neighbourhood. 

Gil. I feel assured I should, were it even like 
the vale of Cimmeria. 

Lady Aub. He is really quite charming. [Apart. 1 
On second thoughts, Mr. Gainsford, not a word of 
this intended visit to Mrs. Woodly ; enjoin all the 
servants to secresy ; and, for the present, I shall not 
notice it to Sir John. I intend to surprise them all 
as much by our acquaintance, as they have thought 
proper to astonish us, by bringing you here. 

Gil. Oh, I am dumb, I am dumb. 

Gert. But, my dear Lady Aubrette, this is a plan 
which, in the end, I fear will be disagreeable to 
Mrs. Woodly. 

Lady Aub. Pshaw, child ! now do not unsettle 
my charming speculations. I really do not wish to 
consult anybody's fancy but my own. Pray, my 
dear, of whom did you buy that witch of a hat ? 

Gert. I forget, but I think it was Mrs. Woodly 's 
taste. 



30 KEEP YOUR TEMPER ! 

Lady Aub. Exactly what the dear creature 
herself wears. 

Gert. Excuse me, but your own 

Lady Aub. True, I had forgotten, but I recollect 
now, that I put on this ridiculous-looking thing to 
put my spouse out of countenance. 

Gert. Indeed ! I do not think that quite right. 

Lady Aub. But I'm sure you'll think so before 
you've been a year married. 

Gert. Then truly it were better to remain single. 

Lady Aub. Positively, now, we must go. [look- 
ing at her watch.'] Mr. Gainsford, one word — when- 
ever you come to see us, send in your card, no name 
upon it, your initials only — when I shall return for 
answer, admit the stranger. 

Gil. Mighty good ! I am all obedience, madam. 
[Lady Aubrette going.] Allow me the honor 
to attend you to your carriage. [Exeunt together. 



END OF ACT I. 



A COMEDY. 31 



ACT II. 



SCENE I. — A rural Scene. Lucy and Arthur 
seated. 

Lucy. I say, my dear Arthur, that Gilbert is 
mad ; that Rolland is mad ; in short, that there is 
scarcely a reasonable person in the village, except 
Sir Rupert, and Charles, the vicar's son. 

Arthur, [starting from his seat.'] And Charles ! 
confusion 

Lucy. Aye, there it is, let me but say Charter, 
Charlemagne, or anything like Charles, your eyes 
start, you look so wild, I am sure you would terrify 
a stranger ; then there is Gilbert, talk to him of the 
metropolis, he is on fire ! talk to Rolland of the 
chace, and he flies over chairs and tables, with a 
heigh, ho ! chevy ! and all this in a room where one 
is reading or working. 

Arthur. And Simon ? 

Lucy. Mixes food for the body, with physic for 
the soul, and tells Jenny Spruce, if she puts two 
eggs into a pudding, she will never go to heaven. 

Arthur. Ha, ha ! poor Simon. 

Lucy. Which makes me seriously think that 
there is scarcely a reasonable person in the place, 
except Charles. 



32 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 

Arthur. Oh, Lucy ! you play with me. 

Lucy. And have we not played together all our 
lives, Arthur ? why, then, should the game be now 
so serious ? 

Arthur. Have I not cause to be serious, when 
the very echoes are mocking me with the name of 
Charles ? 

Lucy. Why, truly, you don't pay attention to 
what you read, or disregard the opinion of the wise 
and the experienced. 

Arthur. Explain ■ 

Lucy. Did not that author you were reading to 
me last night declare, that it was very difficult for 
any one to pronounce the name of the person that 
most interested him or her ? 

Arthur. Then my Lucy does not seriously think 
Charles superior to every other ? 

Lucy. Pshaw ! how could you suppose so, or 
even think that I had any preference for any one ? 

Arthur. Would you lead a single, dreary, and 
unsocial life ? 

Lucy. Oh, no ! I will not be dreary or unsocial, 
you shall come and see me very often, and Gilbert, 
and Rolland, and Cha — Cha — 

[Stopping, as she pronounces Charles. 

Arthur sings. 

When the chill blasts of winter prevail, 
When the dark night of age shall appear, 

Think, Lucy, how soothing the tale 
Of affection — of friendship sincere ! 



A COMEDY. oo 

If sickness your form should assail, 

With your grief should my sympathy be, 

When your roses, my Lucy, turn pale, 
The lily shall charms have for me ! 

Ah, then ! how sincerely I'd prove 

My esteem cannot change, cannot die ; 

Independent of seasons, my love 

Lives on worth still more bright than your eye. 

Lucy sings. 

So all lovers say, my dear Arthur, 
But papa tells me none to believe, 

So I turn a deaf ear to their stories, 
And then they can never deceive. 

I ne'er was in love yet — however 

I won't say I never will be, 
For the god that has wounded young Colin, 

May, perchance, throw an arrow at me. 

[Exit Lucy. 

Arthur sings. 

Sweet hope ! I will cherish thee, then ; 

Yes, time on my cares may improve, 
Away from me, fears of hard fate, 

I shall win the bright smile of my love. 

[Exit. 

SCENE II.— ,4 rural Scene. 
Enter Roll and singing. 
Roll. I lov'd a maid, she me betray 'd, 
Good lack, I ne'er shall love another, 

D 



34 KEEP YOUR TEMPER ! 

The chace shall be my mistress, she 
Will prove more kind than any other ; 

Oh ne er shall I coquet again, 
For t' would remind me of the pain 
That Dolly gave her luckless swain ; 
So, though by Dolly I was crost, 
Community has nothing lost. 
With a heigh ho chevy ! [Looking out, he per- 
ceives Sir Rupert.] Ah, here comes a suspicious 
old soul, who, by the distrust he entertains ot 
every one that addresses his daughter, has cer- 
tainly acted, at some time of his life, a very 
busy part in the gay world ; and then he is so very 
avaricious that he cannot resolve to secure her in 
wedlock, and, though he approves of the suit of 
young Arthur, and though the attachment is mutual, 
I perceive they may grow grey in waiting his con- 
sent, if I do not help them by frightening him into 
compliance, and true charity that might, perhaps, 
be to him, for the old soul would then sleep in peace 
— with a heigh ho chevy ! 

Enter Sir Rupert. 

Moll. Ah, how do you do, father ? 

Sir Rupert. You vainly flatter yourself, Sir. 

Roll. No, I don't though ; but setting aside 
a certain expectation, you are, positively, so like my 
old dad, that it is with difficulty I can tell to which 
I belong. 

Sir Rupert. Thank Heaven ! you don't belong 
to me. 



A COMEDY. OJ 

Roll. Most obliging ; more of that hereafter — 
for the present I must tell you that a fine sleek stag- 
is to be turned out to-day, which, from the strong- 
resemblance it bears to your daughter, and the love 
I bear to her, I have christened Lucy. 

Sir Rupert. I beg, Sir, you will not make quite 
so free with my daughter's name. 

Roll. Excuse me, Sir, but in a free country like 
this, a man has certainly a right to call his dog, or 
his horse, his cow, or his ass, by any name he 
pleases; besides, if you had any taste, you would 
have considered it the highest compliment I could 
possibly pay your daughter — all the ladies of my 
acquaintance would like it abominably. 

Sir Rupert. Your acquaintance being, I doubt 
not, of the abominable order. 

Roll. You have hit it; abominably stupid. With 
a heigh ho chevy, hark forward, hark forward, tan- 
tivy — this day must Lucy fly. 

Sir Rupert. [Apart.'] I'll have a care of you, Sir. 

Roll. Do you know, Sir, I was once on the eve 
of running off with a pretty girl, and just as I was 
stepping into the carriage that was to convey me on 
the wings of impatience to Gretna, I most unfor- 
tunately, as then it appeared to be, broke my leg, 
and before I could get the pieces put together again, 
the old father came up and arrested our course — 
but I'll take care my leg don't break a second time. 

Sir Rupert. [Apart.] Thank you for the hint. 

Roll. Yes, yes, this accident has made me care- 
ful, and I hope for a better bargain than the last ; 
no more fathers shall interrupt me again. 
d 2 



36 KEEP YOUR TEMPER ? 

Sir Rupert. I'll beware of you. 

[ WW/w # fowf disturbedly. 

Roll. I presume, Sir, you are going to dine with 
my father to-day ? 

Sir Rupert. Pray, Sir, what reason have you to 
presume that? 

Roll. La, Sir, I read it in your all-expressive 
phiz. 

Sir. Rupert. Give me leave to assure you, you have 
totally misconstrued the language of my looks, I 
am not going to see your father, nor is your father's 
son coming to see my daughter. 

Enter hastily Lucy with a letter. 

Lucy. Papa, papa, another letter from Gilbert ; 
you may equally depend upon all his promises. 

[Giving the letter. 

Sir Rupert. Ah, Rose, that is yet to fear. 

[He begins to read. 

Lucy. All good news, papa ? 

Roll. I say, Lucy, my love, will you be at home 
this evening ? 

Sir Rupert. [Turning from the letter.'] No. 
S'death ! in my presence. 

Lucy. No, no, no ; to be sure not. 

Roll. What not for a single hour ? 

Lucy. No, no, no, no, not for a single moment. 
[Sir Rupert holds up his cane. 

Roll. But you don't tell us what Trim, there, is 
about, I wager he'll come home without a sixpence 
in his pocket, or a shoe to his foot. 

Sir Rupert. [Groaning.] That I dread ! [Apart.] 
I dread my punishments. 



A COMEDY. 3( 

Lucy. Dear papa, don't be concerned at his non- 
sense. 

Sir Rupert. Let's see, let's see, I must answer 
this; this is good at least for the present; it shall be 
answered. 

Lucy. Pray, papa, set about it immediately. 

Roll. [Going] Adieu, my Helen bright, re- 
member thy adoring Paris ! remember ere the 
officious night, and envious sleep those azure eyes 
shall seal, I must, I will again behold them ! 

Sir Rupert. But I'll take care of that. 

[Exit Lucy and Sir Rupert. 

Roll. Ha ha ha ! the old soul is afraid of his 
own shadow, and success must attend my pursuit. 
[Looking out.] Ah, a propos ! here comes that love- 
sick dog, young Arthur, just as I was thinking of 
him ; I do believe I can serve him in a double 
way, nevertheless, I abominate these languishing 
creatures — Oh ! I must cure him — it is time he was 
cured ; — notwithstanding the damsel never gives the 
slightest encouragement to any other man, he can 
hardly persuade himself that she prefers him — so 
now, to bring his disorder to a head, give him a 
complete fit of jealousy, and finally establish his 
future happiness. 

[Rolland retreats into the back ground. 
Enter Arthur, a book in his hand. 

Arthur. She is right, it is precisely what he has 
said — but, alas ! 

" Where'er we go, whatever state we prove, — 
Rolland coming forward. 

Roll. "One is each season when we trulv love." 



58 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 

But, my dear Arthur, what's the matter ? how pale 
you look — are you ill ? 

Arthur. No, not exactly, yet I believe this 
weather does not agree with me. 

Roll. It has, I know, a very unpleasant effect 
upon me. 

Arthur. As how ? you look very well. 

Roll. My complexion, indeed, seldom changes, 
yet I cannot help recollecting that it was just at 
this unfortunate season that I experienced one of 
the greatest calamities that could possibly happen to 
a man of my sensibility. 

Arthur. May I inquire farther ? 

Roll. In truth, I am loth to tell you, for, as you 
seem to be in a melancholy mood, you will, pro- 
bably, be assimilating a sort of something in my fate 
with your own situation, and yet, my dear fellow, we 
rarely hear of the same accidents occurring to two 
different persons. 

Arthur. Very rarely, indeed ! and therefore 
you need not be so delicate about my feelings. 

Roll. It is, indeed, a common case enough ; to 
be brief — three years ago, just at this very season, I 
fell seriously in love, and I was fool enough to 
believe that the girl loved me equally — and yet I 
cannot say that she ever told me so — but this, you 
know, we men frequently think unnecessary, for we 
have an unfortunate habit of translating cant kind 
words and insignificant smiles, into important pre- 
ference, and yet, to say truth, she did not trouble 
me much with these, but, on the contrary, would 
often call me fool, madman, and the like. 

Arthur. Ah, indeed ! 



A COM ED V. 39 

Roll. Blockhead that I was, I really thought 
that when she most abused, the most she loved me. 
False woman ! mistaken Rolland ! I should have 
continued thus dreaming on, for many a month, had 
I not been awakened one morning by the loud 
ringing of the parish bells. 

Arthur. And that ? 

Roll. Was but to tell me, Arthur, she was 
wedded to another. 

Arthur. Perfidious woman ! false sex ! 

Roll. He who has ever truly loved, may guess 
what then I felt— what now I feel — at this unlucky 
season ; excuse my saying any more. The parish 
bells ! the parish bells ! I hear them jingling in my 
ears at every corner. [Exit hastily Rolland. 

Arthur. Poor Rolland, how I pity you ; but 
your case makes me revert to myself. Yes, your tale 
revives in me ! I will leave this place ; I will not 
see this girl any more, she trifles with me — I was 
not originally a fool, however this idle passion may 
have metamorphosed me — I will make one resolve 
and be myself again ! 

Lucy is heard singing behind the .scenes. 

Ah ! whither, all ! whither, can Damon be gone, 
My true love, the gentle, the ruddy, the young ? 
I could think 'twas an age, tho' I saw him to-day, 
I could think 'twas an age since the youth fled 

away. 
Ah, haste thee, return ! dear Damon, here fly, 
Let me read of thy truth, in thy soul-beaming eye, 



40 KEEP YOUR TEMPER ! 

I ask no professions less truly they prove 
That the youth whom I love, loves the girl I most 
love. 
Arthur. Now to beware the magic of that voice, 
she sings of Damon and little thinks the hapless 
Arthur is so near. 

Enter Lucy, who looks surprised on seeing Arthur. 

Lucy. Now who would have dreamt of your 
being here ? 

Arthur. Not Lucy, I am certain. [Gravely. 

Lucy. Why, how now, Arthur ? what's your 
humour now 1 

Arthur. Not to be pleased with that which, from 
the beginning, was always satisfied with itself. 

Lucy. Ho, ho ! does Arthur rail against the 
sex ? 

Arthur. Perfidious sex ; there is no sincerity 
amongst them, no dependance to be placed on the 
faith of any of them. 

Lucy. Dear Arthur, what is it has disturbed you 
so much ? 

Arthur. [Apart.] Trust not that deceitful voice. 

Lucy. Say, I entreat you, are you ill ? do speak. 

Arthur. Of Damon ? 

Lucy. [Apart.'] Oh, ho ! I have him now. 
But what of him ? 

Arthur. May he be blasted with keen dis- 
appointment. 

Lucy. Ho, ho ! what, dear Damon ? 

Arthur. Who is this Damon? 



A COMEDY. 41 

Lucy. What, not know Damon ? I'll describe 
him then ; neither is he too tall, nor yet too short, 
nature has cast him in that happy mould which 
pleases every mind — [apparently admiring Arthur 
as she .speaks.] — his eyes are black as Arthur's, and, 
for the round luxuriant curls that grace his manly 
forehead, what can compare with them ? 

Arthur. S'death ! can I hear more and brook 
the insult ? 

Lucy. Why, Arthur, surely you are mad. 

Arthur. Mad! Oh, Rolland, it was thus — but 
no more ; farewell, and for ever, I say. 

{Exit Arthur. 
[Lucy looks after him some moments in astonish- 
ment, then supports herself against a tree, 

Lucy. Ah, what can all this mean ? My heart 
sinks within me — my head turns round — can he be 
mad, indeed? I tremble in astonishment. Oh, dis- 
traction ! What must I think ? 

Rolland comes forward. 

Roll. That the men were deceivers ever, and 
that the woman who constantly distrusts them can 
never go wrong ; this is the first principle I shall 
instill into the minds of my daughters, if ever I 
should have any, and depend upon it they will never 
be guilty of a false step — be assured a woman is 
very silly whenever she puts any confidence in 
man, 

Lucyi And, believe me, I never shall again, no, 
never. 



42 KEEP YOUR TEMPER ! 

Roll. But, is it of Arthur you complain ? 

Lucy. Alas ! I fear, indeed, that 

Roll. Oh, I have said too much against my own 
sex ; he being in question, I do not intend, by any 
means, to include him with my evil brethren. 

Lucy. You might not be much in error if you 
had done so. [Going. 

Roll. Lean on my arm, you seem very faint. 

Lucy. I wish to return home. 

Roll. Come, come, do not droop; I seriously 
think that Arthur is a very good young man — 'tis 
nothing but a fit of jealousy this — you know his 
temper. [Exit Lucy, leaning on Rolland's arm. 

SCENE III.— The inside of a doctors shop. Dr. 
Linton busily employed in making up medicines — 
a boy waits ^ and puts letters and bottles into a basket. 

Dr. L. Here, take these draughts as directed ; 
then call at Brown's with this blister ; afterwards, 
carry the strengthening plaister to Miss Jenny 
Heartless, the leeches to the Alderman's, the cor- 
rective pills to the lawyer's ; the balsam to the 
curate's. 

Boy. Yes, Sir. Let me see ; Brown's blister; 
Jenny Heartless's plaister; leech for the Alderman ; 
correction for the deevil, say lawyer ; drop of 
comfort for the poor parson ; shan't forget, all right. 

Dr. L. Sirrah, there must be no mistake ; then, 
when you have delivered the medicines, call at Lady 
Vapor's, and tell her the steam-bath will be ready at 
six. 



A COMEDY. 43 

Boy. Very well, Sir. [Boy takes the basket, re- 
peating as he goes out.] My Lady Steam Vapor 
Bath -all right. [Exit. 

Dr. L. Now for the poor widow ; by my holy 
art I will make a cure of her, and let her prayers be 
my reward : it is, I believe, the frequent prayers of 
the widow and the orphan that make me so happy ; 
[making up medic'uies.] were it not, as friend 
Rolland says, that I am somewhat impatient, I do 
not think that there would be a happier man in ex- 
istence — but here I see him coming for more 
medicine ; I presume he pretends to take physic for 
the good of my family, and it is true that the half of 
that which I send him has not the honour of reach- 
ing his palate, for such is his faith in my medicines, 
that he cures himself with the very sight of the 
pills. 

Enter Rolland, a whip in his hand. 

Roll. With a heigh ho chevy ! no more 
bolusses, the whole village will be poisoned, all 
these should have been made into pills, as small as 
pins heads. 

[Rolland whips off the counter several balls 
which the doctor had been preparing. 

Dr. L. S'death, Sir, this is too much ; do you 
know what you have done here? — all these were 
for the widow Bentley, and I have no more of these 
ingredients in my shop — she will now be obliged to 
wait for several days for a supply, in the mean time, 
at the hazard of her life. Is this your charity to 
the community ? 



44 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 

Roll. That's right, doctor, talk calmly, ancl you 
shall send the old woman a few golden pills from 
me by way of indemnification. 

. Enter hastily, and in agitation, a Servant. 

Servant. Sir, your attendance is immediately 
required at Mr. Robinson's, Mr. Arthur is taken 
suddenly ill ; pray be quick, we think he is dying. 

[Exit Servant. 

Roll. Ha, indeed ! 

Doctor L. [running hastily about.'] Where is 
my case, where is my case ? — dying ! [Going. 

Roll. Stop, stop ; hear what I have to say, or 
you may kill him. [Preventing him going. 

Doctor L. What do you mean, young man ? 
Have you not heard that I am wanted on life and 
death ? 

Roll. I tell you, you cannot save his life if you 
do not hear me. 

Dr. L. No, patience itself were madness now. 
[The Doctor takes pistols from the corner of his 
shop, and presents one to Rolland. 

Roll. Keep your temper. 

Dr. L. I demand the satisfaction of a gentle- 
man. 

Enter hastily, and in evident alarm, another Servant. 

Servant. Oh, Sir ! make haste ! 

Dr. L. What, what is it ? 

Servant. Miss Gainsford,_ Sir, is dead, or very- 
near it. 



A COMEDY. 45 

Dr. L. Oh, this is too much ! [the pistols drop 
from the Doctor s hands.] too much ! 

S t rvant. Fly, clear Sir, I must fly. [Exit Servant. 

Dr. L. Where is my partner ? where is my as- 
sistant ? 

Roll. Here, Sir, — come with me, I will lead you 
to your patients — I will tell you what has happened 
— I see a man may carry a joke too far, but you can 
remedy all by one word — here is your case — we 
will go together, only keep your temper. 

Dr. L. I am quite calm, indeed I am, I hope I 
may not be too late. [Going. 

Roll. I will ensure you — fear nothing — only 
keep your temper ; all will still be well ; poor 
Arthur, poor Lucy. [Exeunt together. 

SCENE IV. — An apartment in Sir John Au- 
brette's house. Sir John, Lady Aubrette, 
Gertrude netting. Lady Aubrette holds a 
ridiculous-looking hat in her hand. 

[Sir John writing. 

Lady Aub. And you will really swear that this 
witch of a hat was very becoming? 

[Sir John looks up. 

Sir John. I swear you looked bewitching in it. 

Gert. And so you think, Sir John, with every- 
thing Lady Aubrette wears. 

Sit John. You are right, she would please me 
in the witch of Endor's garb. 

Lady Aub. Oh! Sir John, you are the most 
provoking of men ! [Pulling the hat to pieces. 



46 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 

Sir JoJm. I will endeavour to improve, my love. 
[Continuing to write. 

Lady Aub. All this will not do, Sir John, this 
foolish calmness 

Sir John. I can be in a passion if provoked. 

Lady Aub. Be assured you will never rule me, 
Sir John. 

Sir John. My first wife and my second used to 
say the same. 

Lady Aub. Now what can I do with this Blue- 
beard. [Turning to Gertrude. 

Gert. Let me entreat — — 

Enter Richard. 

Richard. Your horse is quite ready, Sir John. 

[Exit Richard. 

Sir John. Mighty good ! I do not think that I 
shall be at home for some hours — [looking at his 
watch.] — compose your spirits, my love, for I re- 
peat, I am afraid of your health suffering from these 
exertions. 

Lady Aub. Oh, be assured I shall not live long, 
and, therefore, I recommend you to choose out of 
some collection of statues, your fourth wife, that 
there may be some similarity between you. 

Sir John. Oh, as for that, minds may be similar 
without being congenial, and vice versa — but I will 
not keep my horse waiting any longer, for fear he 
should lose his temper. Good morning ! 

[Bows and exit. 



A COMEDY. 47 

Lady Aub. Now tell me, sweet Gertrude, do you 
think that such another icicle is to be found in this 
world ? 

Gert. Sir John is certainly the best tempered 
man in Christendom, he is never disturbed. 

Lady Aub. Yes, it is that which provokes me so 
much ; if I could but once succeed in putting him 
out of humour, I should feel myself indemnified for 
a world of chagrin. I am determined to aggravate 
him in some way or other. 

Gert. And when you have done that 

Lady Aab. I may, perhaps, be inclined to follow 
good Mrs. Woodly's advice. 

Gert. The sooner the better, I am persuaded, for 
all parties. 

Lady Aub. Surely, his first wives must have been 
very easily managed, or he never would have ven- 
tured on a third ; now I will make the task so 
difficult to him, that if I die, never, no, never will 
he wed again ! 

Enter Richard. 

Richard. My lady, the stranger again requests 
to see your ladyship, and has given me this card. 

[Giving a card. 

Lady Aub. Shew him into the library imme- 
diately. Charming Mr. Gainsford — [Exit Richard.] 
I like this ardour and impatience above all tempers ; 
how different is this from my icicle of a spouse. 

Gert. Oh ! my dear Lady Aubrette, let me 
entreat you — consider a moment what may be the 
consequence of all this trifling. 



48 KEEP YOUR TEMPER ! 

Lady Aub. Yes, indeed, I have considered in a 
moment — we shall have the most charming ad- 
ventures. 

Gert. Adventures ! How, what sort of adven- 
tures ? 

Lady Aub. Not exactly bearing on the fashion 
of the day — something admirable ! something new ! 

Gert. Explain. 

Lady Aub. Why, perhaps I shall have a certain 
old father's consent to a projected marriage, before 
he even hears of the name of his intended daughter- 
in-law ; ha, ha, ha ! ha, ha ! 

Gert. Am I awake ? I tremble, [in the utmost 
astonislunent.'] Oh, Lady Aubrette, what can all 
this mean ? 

Lady Aub. Only that you must lend me a little 
assistance in plaguing Sir John. 

Gert. I see no wisdom in that ; I beg to be ex- 
cused. 

Lady Aub. Oh, that is utterly impossible. 

Gert. I am determined not to be concerned in 
any plot — I don't like adventures, 

Lady Aub. But, my angelic Gertrude, you like 
to oblige your friends ; come with me, then, and be 
assured you will rejoice in the end that you lent me 
your assistance in the beginning. 

[Lady Aubrette takes Gertrude by the arm 
and leads her out. 



END OE ACT JI. 



A COMEDY. 49 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. — An apartment in Sir John Aubrette's 
house. 

Sir John entering, Richard folloioing. 

Sir John. I must change these boots, set me an- 
other pair in the library — this is not all— stay one 
moment ; [Richard going'] you have packed up the 
wrong papers, and it is on this account that I have 
returned so immediately. 

Richard. Sir John, I perceived the mistake a 
very short time after you left, and 

Sir John. As I passed the wall at the end of my 
grounds, I thought I perceived a stranger walking 
about, a person whom I never recollect having 
seen before ; has any one entered my house since 
I went out ? 

Richard. Entered, Sir ! 

■Sir John. Yes, Sir, do I not speak intelligibly ? 

Richard. Sir, yes, Sir, I quite understand, but 
pray do you mean any company, Sir John ? 

Sir John, [apart] I must keep my temper, 
patience ! I mean. Has any one, man, woman, or 
child, entered this house since I went out ? speak 5 
instantly, why do you hesitate ? 

Richard. Oh ! yes, indeed, Sir, there has been 
both and all, men, women, and children. 



50 KEEP YOUR TEMPER ! 

Sir John. And who, then, is that person that 
has been admitted into my grounds, that stranger ? 

Richard. I don't know, Sir, indeed, Sir. 

Sir John. Speak the truth, Sir, at the peril of 
your place, I command you ; have you opened 
the door to any stranger this day? 

Richard. No, Sir, no, indeed— the porter opened 
the door, and I shewed him into my Lady's library, 
and this is truth, as I hope to keep my place. 

Sir John. Very good — and now, what is this 
stranger's name ? 

Richard. I don't know, indeed, Sir John ; upon 
my honor, I don't know his name, neither does the 
porter, and this is true, as I hope to keep my place. 

Sir John. I shall certainly lose all patience. 
I believe, Sir, you know that I am a man of calm 
mind, but not the less determined ; I have already 
said, that if I find any falsehood, you leave my 
house immediately. By what name is this stranger 
admitted ? 

Richard. By no name at all, Sir, indeed, upon 
my honor ! upon my knees, I assure you, Sir 
John [Richard kneels. 

Sir John. Rise, Sir, and tell me briefly, how, 
then, does he get in ? 

Richard. Why, Sir, just this way- he knocks at 
the door, with a kind of gentle sly tap, not at all 
like your honor's knock 

Sir John. Go on. 

Richard. The porter opens the door, the young 
man gives a card, and he says take that to Lady 
Aubrette ; and so the porter gives it to me, and I give 
it to my Lady, and my Lady says shew the stranger 



A COMEDY. 51 

into the library, and so, your honor, I shew him there, 
and sometimes they go directly into the grounds, 
and sometimes they stay in the library 

Sir John. Proceed. 

Richard. Then, after a short time, Sir, 1 run up 
stairs into the store-room, and there I look out for 
your horse or carriage, and I stand so, your honor, that 
it any body past close to the house, they could not 
see that any one was on the watch, I stand so 
amazing cleverly. 

[Putting himself half behind a door to explain 
how he stands. 

Sir John. And, when you see my horse or 
carriage, what do you do then ? 

Richard. Then, Sir, I run hard drive above 
stairs, frequently in danger of breaking my neck, 
to tell the ladies you are coming, and then the 
stranger is let out through the garden, that's all. 

Sir John. Very ridiculous, indeed. 

Richard. So I think, Sir; and as it has hap- 
pened, that you, Sir, returned, even before I got into 
my watch-room — well, of course, I had not time to 
let them know, and so, Sir, you got a sight of him. 

Sir John. I certainly should be glad to know 
this stranger's name. [Alusing. 

Richard. So should I, Sir, for there is some- 
thing very particular in him, indeed. 

Sir John. How particular ? 

Richard. Why, Sir, I don't much think he's 
English, and yet if he be a foreigner, he's the hand- 
somest foreigner I ever set eyes upon ; I don't think 
I ever saw so handsome a young fellow in my life. 
e 2 



52 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 

Sir John. Humph ! And now I think of it, what 
is the reason you never informed me of this 
stranger's visits ? 

Richard. Her Ladyship, .Sir, forbad us, at the 
peril of our lives. 

Sir John. She did ! 

Richard. And if she should now discover that I 
have told, what may become of me ? 

Sir John. Trust me for that — upon my word this 
is a most ridiculous business, but I see how it is', 
this is some secret lover of Miss Stanley's, yes, yes, 
this is the reason why I am not to be informed. 

Richard. I don't know how that may be, Sir, but, 
indeed, it is my Lady who always seems the most 
pleased to see the young gentleman, and Miss 
Stanley looks as if she did not half like my Lady's 
going on. 

Sir John. Humph ! humph ! I should be glad to 
be acquainted with this stranger, for if indeed he be 
a foreigner, he may not be a proper acquaintance 
for Miss Stanley. Lady Aubrette must always have 
some adventure on the carpet ; and this gentleman, 
I suppose, has been introduced by her Ladyship to 
Miss Stanley. 

Richard, [apart] A good way of turning the 
business. 

Sir John. And he is very frequent in his visits 
here ? 

Richard. Oh la ! yes, Sir, he is never out of the 
house; always three minutes after you set out, Sir, 
he arrives * so I think, Sir John, he keeps as close 
watch over you as I do. In short, he seems as if he 
could not live away from us ; and this is all, indeed, 



A COMEDY. OS 

Sir John, that I know of this business, as I hope to 
keep my place. 

Sir John. I am perfectly satisfied that you have 
spoken the truth, I will now change my boots, these 
are much too tight, set me another pair immediately, 
1 will then introduce myself to the gentleman. 

Richard. I will, Sir, immediately. [Apart.] Very 
easy indeed in the tight boots. [Exit. 

Sir Jo/in. This is the most incomprehensible, 
the most mysterious affair ! — thank heaven, I have 
not betrayed myself to my servant ! — let out at the 
garden gate — handsome young man— forbid to in- 
form me at the peril of his life ! but let me be calm, 
let me be patient — yet, indeed, these adventures be- 
come so very general in this age, that a man cannot 
be too prompt in looking about him. I must inves- 
tigate the business without delay. I will change 
these boots, and instantly set about it. [Edit. 

SCENE II. — A Garden Scene. Gertrude and 
Giebert walking— they stop in front of the Scene. 

Gil. Just so, my dear Gertrude, are the walks 
laid out at Comberley ; and at this very season, 
at this very hour, Lucy, my father and myself are 
accustomed to stroll, and 

Gert. Is the surrounding landscape equal to 
this ? 

Gil. The landscape, the air, the society, all is 
inferior. 

Gert. Which way has Lady Aubrette turned ? 
Let us look for her. 



54 KEEP YOUR TEMPER ! 

Gil. No, no, she fatigues me to death ; I am not 
well enough to bear her excessive spirits. 

Gert. You have, indeed, some fatigue in coming 
here, but tell me, does not Mrs. Woodly complain 
of your repeated absence ? 

Gil. She thinks I am paying my devotions at 
the shrine of inanimate beauty, at the feet of the 
statues of the Venus di Medicis, the Apollos, the 
Antinous, the Laocoon ! — she forgets that I am her 
nephew, that I have a heart, that ■ 

Gert. Pardon me, Sir, if I wish that you re- 
sembled her more ; then, I am certain, you would not 
so long submit to Lady Aubrette's folly in clan- 
destinely coming here — how may all this end ? 

Gil. How should it end but well ? besides, did 
she not bind me in the first instance to secrecy ? — 
and, in the meantime, can I forget my obligations to 
her ? — can I forget that whilst I am, indeed, 
fatiguing myself on the one side in contributing to 
her amusement, I am, on the other hand, procuring 
for myself the greatest of all earthly blessings ? — 
Sweet Gertrude, ask your own heart how you would 
have acted in such a case. 

Gert. Like you, I might have been guilty of an 
error in the first instance, but in the second, I would 
perceive it, I would acknowledge, I would correct 
it. 

Enter hastily Lady Aubrette. 

Lady Aub. Dear Gerljpude, retire a little, Sir 
John is unexpectedly returned ; he will be coming 
here ; leave Mr. Gainsford to my care a few minutes. 



A COMEDY. D3 

Gcrt. ! most willingly, dear madam. 

[Exit Gertrude. 

Gil. [apart] S'death and confusion to Sir John. 

Lady Aub. Sir John is inquiring for me — I expect 

him every moment — now I shall certainly provoke 

him, and if his attachment is as Mrs. Woodly 

pretends, he must certainly have a fit of jealousy. 

[Gilbert muttering in evident impatience. 

Lady Aub. Yes, he must be out of humour for 

once in his life. [Turning to Gilbert.] My dear 

Sir, we will enter this shady walk, you must talk and 

laugh very loud. My maid has overheard some 

discourse, he intends to play the scout. 

Gil. Madam, I cannot laugh. [Very gravely. 
Lady Aub. Mighty good ! I will laugh for you, 
then : ha, ha, ha ! come along, ha, ha, ha ! 
Gil. S'death and confusion to Sir John ! 
Lady Aub. Ha, ha, ha! excellent! that is just 
what you should say, that will do exactly. 

[Lady Aubrette takes Gilbert's arm, and 
apparently dragging him along, they enter a 
shady walk. 

Enter Sir John. 

Sir John. I have secured the gates, but let me 
proceed softly, for he might, in an emergency, leap 
the wall. 

[Sir John listens attentively, and hears l\ady 
Aubrette laughing and talking very loud. 
Lady Aub. My dear Sir, this project is the most 



56 KEEP YOUR TEMPER.' 

delightful in the world, I do not expect the tyrant 
home to-night ! Ha, ha, ha ! 

Sir John, [apart] Good ! but I have resolved 
to keep my temper. 

Gil. S 'death and confusion to Sir John ! Would 
there were no such person ! 

Sir John, [apart] Better still. 

Lady Aub. And, were he unexpectedly to arrive 
this evening, before he has time to take off his boots, 
I can secret you in a closet which he never enters, 
and where you may repose very comfortably all 
night. 

Sir John, [apart] Indeed ! 

Gil. I pray heaven he may not stay. 

Lady Aub. And to-morrow, being levee day, 
he must be very early in town, and then we shall 
have full opportunity to decamp — ha, ha, ha ! 

Sir John, [apart] If this be not enough to 
provoke a man — but, perhaps, I dream. 

Gil. Oh my angelic friend ! perverse interrup- 
tion. 

Lady Aub. I wonder if the creature would feel 
his misfortune. 

Gil [not attending to her] Torture inexpress- 
ible, to be deprived of your sight, even for an hour 
— confusion to Sir John. 

Sir John, [apart] I can scarcely believe my senses, 
but I will see by whom I am likely to be so much 
honored. 

Lady Aub. His case is by no means an uncom- 
mon one, he will have that consolation — ha, ha ! 



A COMEDY. 57 

Sir Jo Jm. [apart] Heaven and earth ! is it possible ? 
[6'//' John bursts into the walk from which the 
voices proceed. — Lady Aubrette is seen to 
run from ivalk to walk, as if endeavouring to 
conceal herself Sir John still pursuing, at 
length they all meet in front of the Stage — 
Gilbert is confused — Lady Aubrette af- 
fects to be so. 
Sir John. I must confess a very handsome sub- 
ject, as my servant said, [apart. — Looking at them 
stedfastly .~\ " To-morrow being Levee day, we shall 
have full opportunity to decamp together ! ,J — 
Young man ! let me instantly know your name, if 
your respectability be such as to entitle me to take 
the satisfaction of a gentleman. 

Lady Aub. [to Gilbert] Do not, do not be- 
tray me ! 

Gil. What can I say ? Would to heaven he 
had not come ! 

Sir. John. I demand to be informed, by what 
means you got introduced to this house ; and, un- 
less you wish that certain officers should take you 
into custody, you will do well to let me hear the 
truth : who are you ? what motives led you here ? 

Gil. The most sincere — the most ardent — the 
most unconquerable passion .! 

Lady Aub. Bravissimo ! there's the truth, as you 
would have it. 

Sir John. Merciful heaven ! can man be so be- 
witched ? 

Gil. I know no pleasure but in her society, and 
if I am to be z deprived of. that, death at your 



OS KEEP YOUIl TEMPER ! 

hands, death in any shape would be welcome to 
me. 

Lady Aub. Charming, [apart] This is much 
better than I expected. 

Sir John. Oh my heart ! Is this to. be endured 
with calmness ? 

Gil. What is life, without the object that we 
love? 

Sir John. Young man, hear me ; in any other 
situation, under any different circumstances, your 
countenance would have pleaded for you — even now 
I feel for you a sentiment of pity — yes, this mad 
woman has seduced you from the path of virtue. 
I am sensible of my misfortune ; I regret that you 
are her dupe. 

Gil. Ah ! how can that be ? how can that be ? 

Sir John. Promise me never to see her more ! 

Gil. What ? abandon her ! no never '. never ! 
never ! 

Lady Aub. Ha, ha, ha ! [apart] This is charm- 
ing. 

Sir John. Reflect, young man, a few moments 
on the consequence of an intercourse of this kind. 

Gil. I have reflected, have maturely weighed, 
and I see nothing less than a heaven upon 
earth in the union of two hearts that were evidently 
formed for each other. 

Lady Aub. Are you content with the truth ? 

Sir John. " S'death and confusion to Sir John," 
indeed ! 

Gil, [turning to Lady Aubrette] Madam, what 
is this? explain, how does it so concern him? 



A COMEDY. 5.9 

Sir John. You feel, then, no reproach of con- 
science ; you see no guilt in your passion ? 

Gil. Guilt! astonishing! guilt! oh perversion 

of that sacred emanation of all that breathes of 

heaven ! what madness ! can an attachment like mine 

thus be construed ? what does he mean by guilt ? 

[To Lady Aubrette. 

Sir John. I mean, Sir, that though her husband 
is a man of a calm mind, he knows how to resent 
an injury as a man of honor, nor will he be tardy in 
seeking that redress which such injuries demand, 
and which justice, the laws of his country, will not 
fail to give him. You will, I presume, Sir, leave 
me your address, before you take your depar- 
ture. 

[Exit Sir Johx. 

Lady Aub. Ha, ha, ha! was ever any thing so 
excellent ? oh, how much I am obliged to you — 
how much better you have performed than I ex- 
pected ! 

[Gilbert appears lost in thought, and, not 
hearing her, exclaims- 

Gil. Resent an injury ! her husband a man of 
honor ! — husband ! oh, distraction ! can it be pos- 
sible ? yes, it is, doubtless, too true — does any one 
even know her name, or history ? oh, I am lost ! 
undone ! 

Lady Aub. [approaching him in great surprise. 
In the name of pity, Mr. Gainsford, what is the 
matter with you ? what can you mean ? 

Gil. Mean, Madam ! I mean that if Gertrude be 
already married as he pretends, what have I more to 
do in this world? 



60 KEEP YOUR TEMPEIl! 

Lady Aub. Ho, ho, ho ! I shall certainly expire 
— why you have totally forgotten the whole plot- 
it is Sir John Aubrette who has just left us — my very 
immaculate spouse ! it is I that am married, it is you 
of whom he is jealous, and when you talked of the 
most amiable and intelligent of beings, he thought 
that you meant his wife all the time, and so did I, 
upon my honor ! ha, ha, ha, ha ! there never was 
any thing better than this. 

Gil. Oh, my heart ! can I have been so much 
bewildered ? could I so far forget myself? 

Lady Aub. Ah, you see what it is to be seriously 
in love ! — but, only recollect, that I engaged you to 
act with me to make Sir John jealous ; and I most 
heartily thank you, you have done it to admiration ! 

Gil. Ah, now, indeed, I have some recollection, 
but do you not fear the consequences for yourself? 

Lady Aub. The consequence will be, that I shall 
have to laugh at Sir John and his jealousy all the 
rest of my life ; ha, ha, ha ! 

Gil. Still, Lady Aubrette, I have some doubts 
— some apprehension on my mind— you know that 
there is something mysterious in the fate of your 
friend ; and then, from the manner in which she 
receives my attentions, I hardly dare flatter myself 
that they are agreeable to her. 

Lady Aub. But you must make some allowances 
for a certain timidity of character, which makes her 
doubly interesting, and then your short acquaint- 
ance 

Gil. All that I could admit, were I but assured 
that I am not indifferent to her. 

Lady Aub. Then be assured from me ; you may 



A COMEDY. 6l 

very well suppose that I am in her confidence, and, 
entre nous, she has told me fifty times, that, should 
tin re be any family objections, she could not survive 
the disappointment. 

Gil. Then, by all that earth contains, there shall 
not bo any ! 

Lady Aub. Hush, hush, be calm, not a word of 
this to her, she would never forgive me. 

Gil. Bat, do you not deceive, do you not flatter 
me ? 

Lady Aub. Why, what an incredulous being* 
thou art ! but come, let us look for her, she can at 
least convince you that that person is my husband, 
and who, I suppose, is now puzzling his brains to 
find out your name in vain — what a charming ad- 
venture we shall have. 

Gil. I am confused at all this « 

Lady Aub. Come along ; I see you are musing 
again. 

[Exeunt together, Lady Aubrette taking 
Gilbert by the arm. 

SCENE III.— An Apartment in Sir John Au- 
brette 's house. The library. Sir Jo hx, Richard. 

■Sir John. And they have not yet entered the 
house ? 

Richard. No, Sir John ; but I observed them 
turn into the avenue, as if intending to come in. 

Sir John. ^Tis well, hasten with this card you 
have given me to Miss Stanley, marked G. G., say 
merely, the . gentleman waits in the library — [Ed-it 



6'2 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 

Richard.] if, after what has passed, a shadow of 
doubt could remain upon my mind, I should find 
truth and conviction here. What an unexpected 
blow ! giddy, violent, and capricious, I dreamt nol 
of guilt ! yet fiercely to rage will not alleviate the 
weight of my misfortune. 

Enter hastily Gertrude, speaking as she enters. 

Gert. Oh, Mr. Gainsford, I must entreat 

Sir John. Ah, indeed ! Gainsford is then his 
name, I now know against whom I have to act. 

Gert. Oh ! pardon me, pardon me, Sir John, 
indeed these clandestine proceedings were very 
contrary to my wishes ; I have a thousand times 
requested Lady Aubrette would cease. 
[Throws herself into a chair in an agitated manner. 

Sir John. Compose yourself, Miss Stanley, and 
understand me — that you should be found abetting 
a system of conduct like this, excites my astonish- 
ment, my pity, my indignation ; you, whom I 
imagined so superior to all that I had hitherto met 
with — what excuse can you offer ? what atonement 
can you make ? 

Gert. Oh, Sir John ! pity me, pardon me ; you 
cannot be more offended with me than I am with 
myself; I beseech you forbid Mr. Gainsford's visits 
here, or allow me immediately to return to Mrs. 
Woodly — but no ! I cannot, I dare not, I dread her 
resentment — where shall I fly ? which way shall I 
turn ? [Bursts into tears. 

Sir John. Yes, this distress is more than all con- 






A COMEDY. 6*3 

vincing ; let me recommend you, Miss Stanley, to 
compose yourself, and consider that I am the 
greatest sufferer— all that you can now do is, to 
remain with that unfortunate woman till you have 
my further orders. I must now consult my solicitor^ 
and you shall soon know my determination — you 
have acted improperly, but your mind is not cor- 
r upted — [Sir John, as he is going out.] — tell Lady 
Aubrette, if we meet again, it will be to part for 
ever. 

Gert. What can this mean ? what do I hear ? 
stay, Sir John, I entreat you — [endeavouring to 
detain him.] — only one word. 

Sir John. No, I cannot hear any more, you 
have convinced me of everything. [Exit Sir John. 

Gert. What strange conviction darts across my 
mind ! Oh, Lady Aubrette, you are lost for ever — 
he is deceived. I have contributed to strengthen his 
error — my heart will break, but let me fly — let me 
send some one after him to tell him ; [going, meets 
Richard entering.] Oh, run, Sir, I beseech you ; 
fly after Sir John ; tell him he is deceived, tell him 
it is I that 

Richard. Deceived ! la, ma'am, Sir John knows 
that to his cost ; besides, his horse was waiting for 
him, and he set off full gallop, I doubt if anything- 
human could overtake him. 

Gert. Oh, my unfortunate friend ! what will 
become of you ? — this is all my fault — why did I 
not in the first instance apprise Sir John— I shall 
lose my senses ! 

Richard. Indeed, ma'am, I think we were all to 



6*4 KEEP YOUR TEMPER.' 

blame there, [Exit Gertrude, unperceived by 
Richard, who continues, as he thinks, to address her.~\ 
but my lady is so very headstrong, one never knows 
what to do for the best ; but, were I in Sir John's 
place, I would not, by any means, have a divorce ! 
I don't approve of these divorces — no doubt it is 
what she aiid Mr. G. would most like, and really it 
is encouraging these mischiefs — I would just allow 
her ladyship a scanty separate maintenance, and, if 
starving would not do more towards bringing them 
to their senses, than all the laws and divorces, my 
name's not Richard ; and, between you and I, 
ma'am, it was always my opinion that my lady was 
a little too free with the bottle, that is, I mean if she 
took a little less, we servants should not be battered 
about so much, that's all — pray, ma'am, can you tell 
me the name of this gentleman who has raised such 
a hurly-burly here ? [he stops a moment, then looks 
round icitli surprise.'] Hey day ! what, gone ! run 
after Sir John, I wager ; why we shall have nothing 
but elopements. Molly, Jenny, Betty, Billy, Sally, 
Polly, Tommy, Harry, here's news for you ! 

[Exit Richard. 

SCENE IV. — An Apartment in Sir John Au- 
brette's house. 

Enter Gertrude, Gilbert following, 

GiL Come, come, let us talk no more of Sir 
John, it is time enough to be miserable when as- 
sured he cannot be convinced. 



A COMEDY. 65 

Gert. But if, before he has seen Mrs. Woodly 
— before you have seen her — before any explanation 
can have taken place — he should send you a chal- 
lenge 

Gil. As I live to adore you, I will not accept it 
— I swear ! 

Gert. That all appaling word, coward 

Gil. Has no terrors, when your happiness is in 
question. 

Gert. But it is Lady Aubrette's peace of mind 
that is now the question ; fly, then, I entreat you, 
to Mrs. Woodly, beg her instantly to see Sir John — 
she alone can convince him — tell her all the truth. 

Gil. I will do all ; I will do every thing that 
you wish. 

Gert. Then I am persuaded you will not clan- 
destinely come here again. 

Gil. Why so harshly stigmatize a conduct, 
which you know in the first instance was inevitable. 
Sweet Gertrude, ask your own heart what you 
would have done in such a case, 

Gert. I would retrieve it — but tell me candidly, 
do you not doubt that Mrs. Woodly will disapprove 
of your visits ? 

Gil. No ! I have no doubt, I am too well con- 
vinced ! Why did she conceal from you that I was 
expected at her house ? Why did she send you 
away on my arrival ? Why, but for this reason ? 
I suspect you have no fortune — she thinks I have a 
heart to appreciate excellence, an understanding to 
discern it — she, with a thousand good qualities, has, 
perhaps, one failing, avarice, the vice of the age. 



66 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 

Gert. I tremble as I think ; I cannot help re- 
marking with you the peculiarity of her conduct of 
late — but be persuaded she has some solid reasons 
— our mutual interest is so concerned. 

Gil. Be persuaded ! No, by all that earth con- 
tains, nor man nor woman shall persuade me ! 

Gert. Ah, reflect a moment ; may there not be 
some mysterious cause ? Do I know at this moment 
who I am ? Is not my very name called in question ? 

Gil. Pshaw, pshaw ! a name's a name. What 
do I care for a name ? Black, Brown, or White, it 
is my sole, my whole ambition still to change it. 

Gert. I have but one remark more to make — in 
all sincerity I ought to make it — I feel assured that 
there must be some secret attached to my history 
— I have repeatedly resolved to inquire of Mrs. 
Woodly the particulars of my story, and as re- 
peatedly my words have faltered on my tongue — 
tears have interrupted my purpose, whilst my bene- 
factress has always appeared to guess the cause of 
my concern, and has hastily left the room. 

Gil. 'Tis very strange ! very strange ! [Apart.] 
Suppose it should be as some persons have hinted — 
my fair cousin ! 

Gert. It confounds conjecture itself — but hasten 
to Mrs. Woodly, perhaps she may think proper to 
confide to one of her own family what she does 
not seem willing to communicate to me. 

Gil. Yes, I will fly ! she must speak ! this sus- 
pense cannot be endured ! 

Gert. And oh ! remember first Lady Aubrette. 
It is I who am accountable for all the evil that may 



A COMEDY. 67 

hence occur to her ; if I had had the courage to 
inform Mrs. Woodly of these proceedings, the con- 
Bequences, the still uncertain consequences might 
have been evaded — I feel it is possible I may still 
be your murderer — Sir John Aubrette's — per- 
haps both! I feel, that every moment's delay 
endangers the happiness — -the lives of all — of 
every one in this house ! I cannot close my eyes 
till I know that Sir John Aubrette is informed of the 
real cause of your visits here. 

Gil. I understand — no more ! Farewell— I will 

return promptly, or write — farewell 

[Exit, hast Hi/, Gilbert. 

Gert. Farewell ! there's death in that same 
word ; — return quickly, did he say ? — what strange 
forebodings seize me ! I know not what to think — 
have I raised a hope in the bosom of another, which 
imperious duty may, in the end, oblige me to dis- 
appoint ? — but peace, my heart, I cannot, I must 
not be led by any selfish feeling to interrupt the 
happiness of my more than parent ! No, my dear 
benefactress, sooner than betray you in an affair so 
near and dear to you as the honor, the respect- 
ability of your nephew, I would fly from that 
society in which you have taught me so much good, 
so much happiness ! I may, perhaps, be the off- 
spring of some unfortunate being, whom pure 
charity may have caused you to pity and protect, 
but whom to ally with one of your family were 
indeed to degrade your dignity — virtue, it is true, 
can ennoble us all ; education, talent, merit, 
equalize conditions — but that is not to be my ar- 
f 2 



68 KEEP YOUR TEMPER ! 

gument; no ! it is gratitude that I owe you; it is 
respect for your very prejudices, that I am to 
cherish ; and, whoever I am, my obligations to you 
are the same. Your daughter I cannot be ; no, no • 
that is utterly impossible ! you lament, it is true, 
when I mourn, you rejoice if any circumstance 
gives a new spring to my happiness ; but it is 
because associated with your cares and your 
pleasures, existing only in your smiles, I am become 
a link in the chain of your being, and the long ex- 
ercise of your tenderness has refined your affection 
to the very subtilty of maternal feeling. 

[Exit Gertrude. 



END OF ACT III. 



A COMEDY. 69 



ACT IV. 



SCENE I. — An Apartment in Sir Rupert Gains- 
ford's house. Sir Rupert and Lucy. A 
servant brings in a letter and exit — Sir Rupert 
takes the letter. 

Sir Rupert. Let's see, let's see. 

[Lucy looking at the direction. 

Lucy. Is that Mrs. Woodly's writing? yes — no 
— yes it is. 

Sir Rupert. That of course, as I have not any 
other correspondent in that quarter. [Reads.] 

"My very dear Sir Rupert, — [coughs'] I must re- 
quest you will not be surprised or alarmed at what 
I have to communicate, I say alarmed, as I well 
know your parental anxiety mightlead you, beforeyou 
had well considered circumstances, to conclude the 
business in question a hasty inconsiderate proceed- 
ing — I have, however, much pleasure in informing 

you, that your son is going to be married ■ " 

What, without my consent ? and to some poor 
orphan, may be ! [apart] now come my punish- 
ments ! 

Lucy. Oh, papa, pray go on, her fortune will be 
coming. 

Sir Rupert. [Continuing] " Going to be married 
to a very amiable young lady whom I have known 



70 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 

for many years, no one can be more calculated to 
render him happy." Fudge, fudge, fudge — what's 
her fortune ? 

Lucy. How charming it will be to have a sister ! 
go on, papa ; 

Sir Rupert. " At the death of a certain old lady, 
who is now advanced in years, she will inherit 
an immense property.'' — Oh, ho, ho, so, so ! 

[Takes a pinch of snuff. 

Lucy. Certainly, papa, that will do. 

Sir Rupert. But these old women live for ever ! 

Lucy. La, papa ! 

Sir Rupert, [reads'] — "her father and mother 
are dead, and she lives with this same old lady, my 
most particular friend. All parties are perfectly 
agreeable to the match, and we only wait your much 
desired consent, for Gilbert to espouse the amiable 
Gertrude. You will, perhaps, object to the short- 
ness of this acquaintance ; but you must consider, 
my dear Sir, that as I have known the lady these 
twenty years, I speak from conviction, that the 
choice which Gilbert has thus made so decidedly in 
the first instance, could never be improved by a ten 
years dilly-dally shilly-shally courtship in the 
second. Excuse all incorrectness, I write in the 
greatest haste. Direct to me under cover, to Sir 
John Aubrette, M. P., Belle Vue Lodge, Richmond, 
where we shall probably remain all the summer. 

" April 1st. " Yours very truly, 

M. W." 
Lucy. Delightful, papa ! 



A COMEDY. 71 

Sir Rupert. Dilly-dally shilly-shally ! — why 
surely this mad boy has infected his aunt. 

Lucy. Dear papa, do sit down and write an an- 
swer immediately, delays are dangerous, here is 
some paper, and here is a most excellent pen. 

Sir Rupert. Let me see then. [Sir Rupert 

sits and begins to write] " My very dear madam" — 

[Writing and speaking. 

Lucy. Here are your spectacles, papa. 

[Sir Rupert puts them on. 

Enter Rolland and Dr. Linton. — Lucy signs to 
them to keep in the back ground 

Sir Rupert. " As throughout your life you have 
been considered to have acted with the greatest 
prudence, I scruple not to leave you sole arbitress 
with regard to the fate of my son, in this most im- 
portant of all concerns, the choice of a wife, and 
with your usual discretion, see that no imposition 
be practised with regard to the fortune of my in- 
tended daughter-in-law — for you must feel assured, 
that when once the knot is tied, it is for better, and 
for worse. Depending, therefore, entirely on your 
great foresight, experience, and caution, I give my 
formal consent to the marriage, and in the hope of 
speedily seeing you all in this part of the world, I 
remain, my dear sister, 

" Your very affectionate brother, 

GAINSFORD.' , 

[Lucy rings a bell previous to the conclusion of the 

letter, she speaks to a Servant, who goes out and 



72 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 

returns with a light, which he places on the 

back ground, and remains there himself. 

Lacy. Charming, papa ! nothing can be better 

penned, let us immediately send it ; here is my seal. 

[Sir Rupert folds the letter. 

Sir Rupert. Pooh, pooh, that will not do, where 

are my arms ? 

Lucy. [Looking about.'] Oh ! where in the 

name of pity shall I find the arms ? [Moving about. 

Sir Rupert. " To Mrs. Woodly— To Sir John 

Aubrette, M.P., Belle Vue Lodge, Richmond. 

Lucy. Here they are, here they are ! 

[Lucy giving the seal and the light, Sir Rupert 

seals the letter. 
Sir Rupert. [Repeating, ,] " At the death of an 
old lady, she will inherit an immense property ! " 
[Gives Lucy the letter, she gives it to the Servant 

in waiting; exit 1 tastily Servant. 
Lucy. Fly, fly, it is post time. 
Sir Rupert. A plum at least I suppose — O Gil- 
bert ! thou lucky boy ! [Looking out after Servant. 
Lucy. Now it is safe. 

Sir Rupert. But I ought to know in what this 
immense property consists, whether in land, free- 
hold, copyhold, in the four per cents, or if it lies — 

Roll and coming forward. 

Roll. At the bottom of the ocean. 

[Lucy and Dr. Linton converse. 
Sir Rupert. Why, what are you doing here ? 
Roll. I am just come on the most benevolent 



A COMEDY. 73 

errand possible, yes, rattle as I am, when doing a 
real service is in question I know how to lay aside 
all trilling, and, as I suppose no one else will dare 

to tell you 

Sir Rupert . Tell what? out with it; what 
is it? 

Roll. Your son, Sir Rupert, I hear is going to 
be married to a lady of 50,000/. per ann., some 
people would have you believe, but the general 
opinion is, that she has not fifty pence. 

Sir Rupert. Oh, woe is me ! woe is me ! and I 
have given my consent — where is my letter, give me 
my letter. 

Lucy. Oh, papa ! it is all false — the letter is in 
the post. [Rolland motions to Lucy. 

Roll. It is confidently reported that the story of 
the fortune is a mere humbug, trumped up to de- 
ceive some avaricious relations. I call upon you, 
Sir, to assert, if you have not heard word for word, 
the story I have just related. 

{Turning to Dr. Linton who comes forward. 
Dr. L. Word for word, precisely as it has been 
told to the present company. 

Sir Rupert. I shall go mad ! Oh Gilbert, thou 
degenerate boy! 

Roll. Thus the business is detailed : he fell in 
love at the first sight, the second made a declaration 
of his passion on his knees, the third offered his 
hand, the fourth obtained the lady's consent, the 
fifth bought the licence, the sixth — I will not vouch 
for the truth — they say he wedded ! 

[Sir Rupert rings the bell in great agitation. 



74 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 

Enter a Servant. 

Sir Rupert. Let my travelling carriage be got 
ready instantly, there must not be any delay ! 
[Exit Servant.'] I will be there before the letter, if 
possible — I will know the truth — I will stop these 
proceedings. 

Dr. L. But, Sir Rupert, may not all this be 
village slander ? 

Sir Rupert. Prove that it is so, I will set off the 
same. 

Lucy. Dear papa, consider my aunt's letter. 

Roll. Give me leave to look at that, it will 
enable me to contradict the statement at least, and, 
if true, it is his father's business only. 

[Rolland takes the letter and reads. 

Lucy. My aunt would not deceive you, papa. 

Sir Rupert. Thy aunt, good-tempered woman, 
has been imposed upon — be directly ready to set off 
with me. Doctor, I pray your attendance — my 
daughter's sudden recovery may be followed by a 
relapse as extraordinary. 

Dr. L. You do me honor, Sir Rupert, I shall 
have much pleasure in attending you. 

Roll. Excuse me, Sir, but will you swear that 
this is Mrs. "Woodly's writing ? 

Sir Rupert. I will swear nothing, but that I am 
undone ! 

Roll. No one at least can be taxed here for a 
forgery, for the devil of any proper signature is to 
be found, save and excepting the 1st of April, and 
two crooked initials, that may pass for any thing. 



A COM ED V. 75 

Lucy. Upon my honor it is so ! 

[Looking at the letter. 

Sir Rupert. Well, well, I will travel all night. 
[Looking also at the letter. 

Lucy, Dear papa, let Arthur go with us; he 
will, perhaps, persuade my brother to return. 

Sir Rupert. I care not, so there be no delay ; fly, 
then, — [Exit Lucy.] — would I could fly. Oh, 
Gilbert, thou degenerate boy ! [Exit Sir Rupert. 

Roll. Gad ! I shall be there as soon as any of 
you ; — now for a coup de main — one frolic more, 
and then you are all settled. 

Dr. L. This letter is a most incomprehensible 
business after all. 

Roll. Very strange, indeed, I can only swear it 
is not my writing. 

Dr. L. But I must wish you good morning, I 
must seek my portmanteau and my pistols. 

Roll. No, no ! give me the pistols, you are not 
quite cured ; with a heigh, ho, chevy ! hark forward, 
hark forward, tantivy ! [Exeunt together. 

SCENE II. — An Apartment in Mrs. Woodly's 
House. 

Enter Gilbert, Patrick following. 

Pat. This is all, your honor, that ever I heard 
of the matter. 

Gil. I am satisfied of that,— tell Mrs. Woodly 
I must speak to her immediately. 

Pat. Your honor is heartily welcome ; sure she 
will come directly. [Exit Patrick. 



76 KEEP YOUR TEMPER ! 

Gil. Be still, my fears ; what is the worst that 
can be expected in this case ? poverty — poverty ! I 
am enamoured of the very sound for her sake. Of 
the cousinship I must still take leave to doubt, — but 
what if that were possible — there would not, in that 
case, be any obstacle, the very law allows it, blessed 
be the law ! I shall not have to contend with that 
in this instance ; [walks about in an agitated man- 
ner] yet, spite of all these self-evident consola- 
tions, I still feel like a condemned criminal a few 
hours before execution ; she delays, can she be gone 
out. [Rings the bell hastily. 

Enter Patrick. 

Is not Mrs. Woodly at home ? 

Pat. Sure, your honor, I saw her on the stairs 
this minute, coming down to you. [Exit Patrick. 

Enter Mrs. Woodly. 

Airs. Wood. Dear Gilbert, I rejoice to see you : 
his town has, of course, so many attractions for an 
inquiring mind, that till you have seen all that is to 
be seen, I suppose we must not hope for more o 
your society. 

Gil. I am obliged for your so accounting for 
my absence, but 

Mrs. Wood. You do not seem well, I am afraid 
you over-fatigue yourself in your daily researches. 

Gil. I am oppressed with the weight of my 
own, and other people's business. 



A COMEDY. 77 

Mrs. Wood. Pray explain. 

Gil. I think it very probable that a challenge 
may be sent for me to this house. 

Mrs. Wood. You alarm me ■ 

Gil. Dismiss all apprehension on that head, and 
be assured I am not mad enough to accept it ; no 
sentiment of fictitious honor shall ever tempt me to 
raise my hand in such a way against the life of 
another ! If I am the aggressor, ought I to add to 
the injury given, by attempting to murder the being 
I have aggrieved ? If, on the contrary, I am the 
insulted person, am I to be so devoid of Christian 
charity and forgiveness, that nothing but a life 
atonement will satiate my vengeance ? 

Mrs. Wood. Oh ! you relieve my mind. 

Gil. The true hero knows how to brave public 
opinion in such a case, to despise all those self- 
created maxims of fashionable morality, which have 
no origin in reason, which are at variance with the 
common laws of humanity. I would prove my 
valour in facing the foes of my country, and fools 
may mock if they will, at my declining to murder 
in cool blood an irritated or offended neighbour. 

Mrs. Wood. With such sentiments, I can fear 
nothing for you. 

Gil. And when the life of such a man as Sir 
John Aubrette is in question 

Mrs. Wood. Sir John Aubrette ! I am lost in 
astonishment — explain, I entreat you. 

Gil. It is a ridiculous business— you perhaps 
already know that Lady Aubrette ■ 



78 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 

Mrs. Wood. Lady Aubrette ! 

[Appearing alarmed. 

Gil. Yes, Lady Aubrette — Sir John I find has 
not yet been here, but he preceded me into town ; 
I am just returned from his house. 

Mrs. Wood. Did I hear right ? from his house — 
from Richmond ? . [Very much agitated. 

Gil. From his house— from Richmond, madam ! 
[Mrs. Woodly leans against the side of the stage.] 

Gil. [Apart.'] Oh ! this strange alarm doubles 
my anxiety like a death-stroke, and chills my very 
utterance. Indeed you are ill ! shall I call for 
assistance ? 

Mrs. Wood. No ! it is nothing, a sudden faint- 
ness— you spoke of Lady Aubrette. 

[Gilbert draws chairs and they sit. 

Gil. She has long wished to put her husband 
out of humour, doubting if it were possible — and 
very opportunely to serve her purpose, I arrived 
from the country, and every day, and sometimes 
every hour, I have been her visitor. 

Mrs. Wood. Oh ! 

Gil. Incapable of giving him any real cause of 
jealousy, she has only been the more active and in- 
genious in performing the part of the faithless wife. 
Sir John has this morning taken the alarm, and you, 
madam, are perhaps the only person that can con- 
vince him of the real state of the case— tell him all 
the truth. 

Mrs. Wood. Indeed I shall have much pleasure 
in undeceiving him ; I am persuaded, too, I shall be 
the first whom he will consult on the business. 



A COMEDY. 79 

Gil. Tell him that I submitted to his wife's 
fully, to procure myself the society of another in- 
dividual — that the real — the only object of all my 
visits to his house 

Mrs. Wood. Oh, my presaging heart ! oh deadly 

thought, who can it be but 

[In the greatest agitation. 

Gil. Gertrude ! Who should it be but Gertrude? 

Mrs. Wood. Oh ! horror ! horror ! speak — ease 
my bursting heart — Oh ! say you are not married ! 

Gil. I am not married, madam. 

Mrs. Wood. Thank heaven ! thank heaven ! I 
am most thankful. Oh say ! pronounce that word 
again ; is it true ? is it most true ? 

Gil. I have said it is true ! true that I am come 
this very morning to seek a licence, to inquire of you 
her name ; but what do I care for a name ? to-mor- 
row it is mine ! I'll take her with the one you have 
been pleased to let her have these two and twenty 
years. 

Mrs. Wood. [Not appearing to hear him.] Oh 
pitying fate, we have escaped ! all, all escaped ! 

Gil. Hear me, madam, and explain why all this 
rejoicing that I am not married — hear me, and be- 
lieve ; I am deaf to the calls of ambition, to the 
subterfuges of avarice, to the threats of disinherit- 
ance ! 

Mrs. Wood. Alas ! indeed it cannot be ! 

Gil. Tell me that she is destitute of all worldly 
goods, all earthly possessions — tell me that this im- 
maculate being whom you have so long protected, 
is the offspring of some humble menial, whom you 



80 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 

thought proper to adopt from pure charitable 
motives — tell me, I say, that she is destitute of 
all worldly goods — that the wide canopy of heaven 
will be my only covering — tell me — but why do 
I delay ? I came here to inquire her real name ; 
madam, I care no more about it, to-morrow it 
is mine ! [Going. 

Mrs. Wood. Oh rash ! Oh madly rash ! it can- 
not be ! {detaining him] she is, indeed, your sister ! 

Gil. No, no, no, no, no, no ! 

[Starting back in horror and beating his fore- 
head distractedly. 

Mrs. Wood. Ah ! I have been too abrupt — dear 
Gilbert, pardon me ; only think we have escaped 
the evil. 

Gil. Ah ! I feel I have not escaped ! 

Mrs. Wood. How can I forgive myself? what 
can I do ? 

Gil. Speak ; I am calmer, let me hear the story, con- 
vince me beyond all hope or doubt of my misfortune. 

Mrs. Wood. But how shall I relate the failings 
of a father to his son ? 

Gil. Were they not already half proclaimed ? 

Mrs. Wood. Let it be sufficient to say I marked 
the distant spot, where the deluded, mourning, and 
repentant wanderer strayed, and sent repeatedly as- 
sistance to her. 

Gil. Excellent friend ! 

Mrs. Wood. And when I found that the cares 
of a nurse were no longer necessary ; I sent for the 
child, resolved most strictly to perform the duty 
so shamefully evaded by the father ! 



A COMEDY. 81 

Gil. Oil ! that was kind and generous ; Heaven 
will reward the deed. 

Mrs. Wood. Sir Rupert thinks me ignorant of 
the whole affair ; it was on this account that you were 
also unacquainted, Oh ! but I must be thankful that 
my good intentions have not been fatal to us all ! I 
breathe again — I am most thankful ! 

Gil. Can that man think there is an after- 
reckoning, who thus can act? give an existence, 
and leave it all the evil chance of perishing 
eternally, nor make one feeble effort to preserve it 
from destruction ? 

Mrs. Wood. Alas, indeed ! 

Gil. Then there's the wretched mother from her 
home seduced, abandoned by all her natural pro- 
tectors, the path of reformation half closed upon her; 
oh ! my father, it is not I that should reproach 
you, but may my sins never be sins like these. 

Mrs. Wood. Amen ! 

Gil. Oh Gertrude ! proud had I been to own 
you as my sister — unhappy Gilbert, that can never 
be. 

Mrs. Wood. [Apart] I tremble to hear him. 

Gil. Did I tell you that I would return quickly ? 
did I dream that I was so near all that my fancy had 
formed of happiness in this world? did I hope for a 
moment, only to despair for ever ? Sir John Au- 
brette, I am ready at least to meet your fire, if not to 
return it. Oh ! I think I could joyfully receive it — 
mine is a calamity without hope — an affliction for 
which no remedy can be found ! 

[Ewit Gilbert, 
g 



82 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 

Mrs. Wood. Oh ! this seeming state of calmness 
is beyond all alarming — to what may it not lead ? 
I must hasten to send some one after him, to observe 
his steps — my heart sinks within me — I must send 
for Sir John. 

Enter a Servant. 

Servant. Sir John Aubrette, madam, requests to 
have some private conversation with you imme- 
diately, if you please — he waits in the library. 

[Exit Servant. 
Mrs. Wood. He can, perhaps, direct me. 

[Exit Mrs. Woodly. 



SCENE III. — An Apartment in Sir John Au- 

brette's House. 

Enter Lady Aubrette ; she ?ings a bell, and enter 
Richard. 

Lady Aub. Pray did Sir John leave any orders 
with regard to his return when he went away ? 

Richard. Not any, my lady ; he only desired me 
not to sit up. 

Lady Aub. Send Miss Stanley here. [Exit 
Richard.] It will be a little ridiculous, if he begins 
to make the matter public without farther inquiry. 
I am convinced I have carried the joke too far 

Enter Gertrude. 

Oh, patience ! you have been weeping ! 



A COMEDY. 83 

Gert I am shocked to think that we have not 
yet had any tidings of Sir John. 

Lady Aub. Come, come, do not distress your- 
self about Sir John, he has long- been trying to con- 
quer me, and, at the last, you will see that I shall 
come oft" victorious. 

Gcrt. Pardon me, Lady Aubrette, but I do not 
think Sir John will ever return to this house. 

Lady Aub. Oh, I dare say he will be returning 
in a few hours, and, in the mean time, I intend that 
you and Mr. Gainsford shall be clandestinely 
married, by way of crowning the joke against him. 

Gert. Clandestinely, married, Lady Aubrette ! 
I revolt at the thought ! — no, believe me, I would 
never enter that family, where I could not be re- 
ceived with open arms. 

Lady Aub. Ho, ho ! what a natural it is ! but 
be assured that these sentiments will not do for real 
life. 

Gert. I can, however, act most strictly in con- 
sonance. 

Lady Aub. That, indeed, I do not doubt — yet } 
to prove to you how little exercise there will be for 
your delicate scruples, look here, [taking a letter 
out of her pocket] here is the old papa's consent 
point blank ! what do you think of that ? look at 
the signature, — Gainsford, — away now with 
all romantic negatives ; can you suppose that the 
old baron would desire any thing but the happiness 
of an only son ? 

Gert. Lady Aubrette, you alarm me ! I am 
thunderstruck ! are you indeed in your senses ? 
g 2 



84 KEEP YOUR TEMPER ! 

Lady Aub. Truly, yes, you will find I have all 
my wits about me ; -ha, ha, ha, ha ! 

Gert. No, no ! it is impossible— I will return to 
Mrs. Woodly immediately ; I will openly declare 
every thing, and, tho' she may be lost to me for 
ever, yet she must know the truth. 
[Gertrude going, Lady Aubrette retaining her. 

Lady Aub. And would you abandon me at this 
crisis ? consider, my dear friend, there is only you 
that can convince Sir John. 

Gert. Oh ! how sincerely I wish that I had 
never come here ! 

Lady Aub. But tell me candidly, what have you 
done with Mr. Gainsford ? why did you send him 
away at this precise time ? 

Gert. I have sent him, madam, to Mrs. Woodly, 
to tell her from first to last of your invitations here ; 
to declare his intentions to her— to inquire my little 
history. 

Lady Aub. Ho, ho, ho ! thou art to be sure a 
superlative creature, to think of sending a handsome, 
elegant, accomplished, rich young lover, to consult 
with his avaricious, cool-thinking, prudent old aunt, 
on the propriety of marrying a girl, without fortune 
it may happen to be ; and now that I have obtain- 
ed the old father's consent, what a superfluous cere- 
mony was that ! If this be your idea of managing 
an affair of the heart, it is time I give you' a lesson. 

Gert. It is true, I am a novice, but pardon me 
if I have no faith in your instructions. 

Lady Aub. Come, come, let me point out to you 
that you have really committed a very great error in 



A COMEDY. 85 

sending this young man to consult Mrs. Woodly ; 
she is, to be sure, a very excellent creature, but I 
susp< ct may have a superabundance of family pride ; 
and she knowing nothing of the father's consent, 
will so preach to the young man, that, what between 
sentiments of fictitious honor and sincere attach- 
ment to you, I should not be surprised, seeing his 
ardent temper, if in the transport of passion, he 
should shoot or drown himself. 

Gert. Oh, oh, oh ! 
[Gert rvde faints, and Lady Atjbrette sup- 
ports her. 

Lady Aub. What have I done ? who ever dreamt 
of attachment like this ? I am certain I never felt 
anything of this kind for Sir John. My angelic 
friend ! look up — fear nothing ! all will yet be well. 

Gert. [recovering] No ! I never can be for- 
given. 

Lady Aub. Come, come! keep up your spirits, 
you know my manner of expressing myself — I am 
fond of superlatives. 

Gert. And when these are used for probable 
consequences, they properly make a double im- 
pression. 

[A loud knocking and ringing is heard, the ladies 
tremble, and one involuntarily seizes the arm 
of the other. 

Loth. What can that be ? 

Lady Aub. Don't faint again, I entreat you. 
[Lady Aubrette places chairs, Gertrude sits. 

[A voice within] — Where is she ? send her to me 
immediately. [The ladies tremble. 



86 KEEP YOUR TEMPER ! 

Gert. What a rage he is in. 

Lady Aub. You will see how I shall perform. 

Enter Richard. 

Richard. Sir John requests to speak with your 
ladyship immediately, in the library. 

Lady Aub. Oh mighty good ! Is any one with 
him? 

Richard. A gentleman in black, my lady, a 
stranger. 

Lady Aub. Say I am coming this moment. 

[Exit Richard. 
Gert. A gentleman in black — now who can that 
be but the lawyer ? 

Lady Aub. Or the Diable ? 
Gert. I tremble to think ! 

Lady Aub. Lean on my arm ; but let me have 
no tears — no faintings ; innocence like ours should 
be courageous — you will see how I shall perform. 
[D?*awbig herself up proudly. 
Gert. Be assured this is no time for trifling. 
[Exeunt together, Gertrude leaning on the 
arm of Lady Aubrette. 



SCENE IV. — The Library. Sir John and a 
Gentleman in black seated before a table on which 
are spread several papers. 

Enter Lady Aubrette and Gertrude. 
Sir John, [to the Gentleman] I will thank you to 



A COMEDY. 87 

retire a few moments. Sir, and if you will wait for 
me in the drawing-room, we will return to town to- 
gether : Miss Stanley will oblige me also by re- 
tiring, as I must speak to Lady Aubrette in private. 

[Exit Gentleman. 

Gert. Oh Sir John ! if I might but speak one 

word, first 

- Sir Jo/in. My amiable friend, it must be at an- 
other time. [Exit Gertrude, weeping. 

Lady Aub. Well, Sir John, what are your com- 
mands with me ? 

Sir John. Commands that will not be very 
agreeable to you, madam. 

Lady Aub. Oh ! pardon me, Sir John, anything 
in which you have any concern must be very agree- 
able and interesting to Lady Aubrette. 

Sir John. Away with all trifling, it is time to be 
serious. Of young Gainsford I would speak, whom 
you secretly led here, and led to his destruction ! 

Lady Aub. Why I don't know how that may be, 
but I think it is moderate enough for a beauty to 
kill but one in her time. 

Sir John. Ridiculous woman ! you have little 
idea of the business which leads me here. 

Lady Aub. Oh ! excuse me ; my penetration 
tells me a divorce is in question, and that gentle- 
man in black is one of the amiable fraternity em- 
ployed on these occasions. 

Sir John. Mad woman, you deceive yourself, a 
divorce is not intended, but a proper keeper. 

Lady Aub. Oh the monster! He is a very 
elegant, handsome, accomplished young man, this 
Mr. Gainsford • 



88 KEEP YOUR TEMPER ! 

'Sir' John. And but for Lady Aubrette might 
have lived a valuable member of society. 

Lady Aub. Ha, ha, excellent ! upon my honor. 

Sir John. Hear me, madam ! you chose to in- 
vite to your house Sir Rupert Gainsford's only son ; 
the consequence of which is 

Lady Aub. You are very jealous. 

.S7>* John. Be convinced — I know all the truth 
— ■ I know that a serious attachment has taken 
place 

Lady Aub. Between two of the most amiable 
and interesting persons in the world. 

Sir John. To prevent the very possibility of 
which, Gertrude was sent here 

Lady Aub. That no offence might be given to 
an avaricious old father and aunt. 

Sir John. And your ladyship has obtained con- 
sent of the father for Gilbert to marry this lady of 
immense property. 

Lady Aub. The written consent, which all the 
world can tell you, is fully binding. 

Sir John. The unfortunate young man is made 
acquainted with Gertrude's history — he knows that 
she is his own sister, and he has not been heard of 
since he learnt the truth ; and it is apprehended, 
for you know his ardent character, that he has shot 
or drowned himself. 

Lady Aub. [Appearing horror-struck] Oh, oh ! 
what do I hear ? [Bursts into tears. 

Sir John. [Producing a newspaper] See, look 
here ! he is every where advertised — an immense 
reward is offered for him, dead or alive — the Bow- 
street officers are in search of him — inquiries went 



A COMEDY. 89 

abroad from the very moment lie left the house, and 
I am come here to know if your ladyship can give 
any information to his afflicted relations. 

Lady Aub. Oh, Sir John ! pity me, pardon me. 

Sir John. I pardon ! —what will that avail ? the 
father — the whole family are arrived, and though 
they are not yet informed that Gilbert is missing, 
you must expect the consequence ! 

Lady Aub. Oh ! horror ! horror ! hide me from 
myself — believe me, Sir John, my repentance is 
sincere. 

Sir John. Unfortunate woman — what reparation 
will that make the injured family ? Is your crime 
less than murder ? 

Lady Aub. Oh, Sir John ! I give myself up to 
justice — I ask no mercy ! 

Sir John. Is your ladyship's passion for adven- 
tures fully satisfied ? have you sufficiently provoked 
your husband ? Can one sin, or even err, in the 
slightest degree, with impunity ? Will your reputa- 
tion escape this outrage ? 

Lady Aub. Oh, I cannot survive this shock ! 

Sir John. You must return with me to town — 
Miss Stanley must also go and remain under Mrs. 
Woodly's care — Sir Rupert Gainsford must see you' 
— Gertrude must not be named, she will keep ex- 
clusively to her own apartment — -the gentleman you 
have just seen will attend us. 

Lady Aub. Oh, save me ! hide me from 

Sir John. Compose yourself — I will not aban- 
don you at this awful crisis ; but, before I set off, I 
must inquire if there be any tidings of the young 



90 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 

man in this neighbourhood— if the corpse be found 
— perhaps he may have sought his death in this 
river at the foot of your garden, within sight of the 
cause of his destruction. 

Lady Aub. I feel I am dying 

Sir John. Be calm — we must exert ourselves to 
the utmost. [Exit Sir John. 

Lady Aub. Oh, my unfortunate friend ! oh, 
Gertrude ! what will become of you when you hear 
this story ? What have I done ? My blood freezes 
in my veins. If he is dead, indeed, may swift 
justice overtake me. 

[She falls fainting on a sofa, and the curtain 
drops. 

SCENE V.— An Apartment at an Hotel. 

Enter Fielding and a Servant, other Servants bring 
in different parcels ; amongst other articles a pair 
of pistols, which are placed on a table. Exit all 
but Fielding, and Tom, his Servant. 

Field. Thank kind fate, I am at length arrived 
in this glorious capital. Merciful providence, thou 
who hast conducted me safe through so many 
dangers, grant that I may find the object of my 
wishes alive, in health, and oh, above all things, 
virtuous ! 

Tom. I hope, Sir, we have not to travel any 
farther to-night. 

Field. No, no ! we must take some hours repose 
— our travels are very nearly ended, friend. 



A COMEDY. 91 

Tom. Oh, kind fate be praised! it is a long lane, 
they say, which never has a turning, and I began a 
lew days ago to think much the same of our 
journey. 

Field. 1 admit, that you do not complain without 
reason — but see now, order my usual evening's 
refreshment, and take care of yourself. [Exit Tom.] 
How my heart beats ! the nearer I approach, the 
stronger grows my agitation — time that represses 
the ardour of the ruder passions, to pure affection 
gives increase of force. Oh, heaven ! thou who 
allottest to all men in this vale their portion of 
calamity, let not this grief, which most I dread, fall 
to my lot ! already I have paid some heavy forfeits 
in probation's school — sometimes I fancied that 
those letters — oh, if I must experience disappoint- 
ment at this pass, what is to me this world, my 
wealth, my honors, and my life ? 

Enter Tom. 

Tom. May it please your honor, the old priest, 
the doctor, the woman, and all the company, is just 
arrived — I have ordered them other rooms, as I 
thought you would not like to be disturbed here. 

Field. It is well ; see that they have every 
comfort and attendance ; I must, however, speak to 
them myself before I take my rest ; there is but one 
step more, and all is happiness, or all despair ! 

{Exit Fielding. 

Tom. Oh dear me, what a novelty it will be to 
have a whole night's rest ! my bones do so ache, I 



92 KEEP YOUIi TEMPER! 

am afraid they are all out of joint ; rattle, rattle, 
day after day, night after night ; I wish I could 
find out what my master has upon his mind, for 
something he must have ; he has brought with him 
many rich bags, which I hope were all had honestly, 
but la ! money is such a temptation ; and then, what 
can be the meaning of this crowd of gentry that we 
have brought with us ? parson, parish clerk, sexton, 
and one or two old nurses ; well, I dare say there is 
some woman in the case ; poor fellow, he has been 
crost in his youthful days ; lucky it is for me, that 
never a one of these women ever set eyes upon me, 
for so sure as ever they do, there is an end of you ; 
but now I suppose my supper must be ready and my 
master's, and we may all go to bed and dream 
quietly for the first time this year. [Edit Tom. 



END OF ACT 



A COMEDY. 93 



ACT V. 



SCENE I. — The same Apartment in the Hotel 
which Fielding had entered ; the table with the 
pistols lying upon it ; different parcels, 8$c. 

Enter Gilbert, his dress disordered ; he has a 
letter in his hand which he puts on the table ; 
perceiving the pistols, he starts back astonished. 

Gil. Ha, where am I ? Do my eyes deceive me ? 
What, do ye tempt me ? — but no, no, no ! Should 
he who has never injured mortal man — never dis- 
graced himself in any way — should he allow the 
caprice of fortune to make a coward of him ? oh, 
Thou Omnipotent ! support me in the trial thou hast 
given. But could you, my father, know at this 
moment what a dagger you have planted in your 
son's breast, surely you could not have a heart, and 
live and reflect on your crime. 

[He takes up one of the pistols, and coming to 

the front of the stage examines it. In the 

mean time Fielding enters wiper ceived by 

him. 

Field. Who can this be ? some one who has 

mistaken his room, perhaps. [Fielding, seeing a 

letter on the table, looks at the direction^ and, in great 

surprise, reads it, and appears more astonished.'] It 

is open, it is for me to take to her ! 



94 KEEP YOUR TEMPER.' 

Gil. It feels heavy ! it is already loaded ! Oh, 
Gertrude ! the very recollection of you, would be 
sufficient to check every thought that hovered on an 
act of madness ! Who pretends to respect your hap- 
piness, and thus prepare for you a long life of 
affliction? [Fielding has approached, and atten- 
tively listens.'] I have sent her a last farewell ! — 
have told her — what have I told her ? Oh had it 
been some deadly foe that brought this evil on me, 
could I resist the temptation ? perhaps my hand had 
struck a murderous blow. 

[He liaises his hand as if in the act of firing 
at something before him — Fielding grasps 
his arm — in the mean time the pistol dis- 
charges, and he starts looking in wild 
amazement at Fielding. 

Field. Oh, speak ! tell me I conjure you — is it 
indeed my child that causes your distress 1 — my long 
lost child, my Gertrude ! is she well — is she 
happy ? 

Gil. Who dares to mock at my calamity ? Who 
dares to call her any thing but 

Field. Fielding's daughter, who now addresses 
you, as certain it is, as that I see Sir Rupert Gains- 
ford's son — be calm, be satisfied, you have been 
deceived. 

Gil. Deceived ! Impossible ! Ho, ho, ho ! 

Field. Merciful Providence ! that broughtest 
me at this very moment here to save him from de- 
struction — to save, I trust, my only child — how can 
I prove my gratitude ? 



A COMEDY. 95 

Gil. Man ! can you tamper with a grief like 
mine ? [Looking at him very earnestly. 

Field. Yes, look at me, would you could look 
into my very inmost soul ! but try if you can dis- 
cover some lineament — some little time-worn, but 
persuasive trait, that may plead better for me than 
my words— [throwing off his cap and turning to Gil 
bert] does she not resemble me ? 

Gil. It may be, oh, I fear ! yes, yes, it must be ! 
[Falls on his shoulder. 

Field. Now tell me that no dark intelligence has 
reached her ; [holding up the letter'] this letter 

Gil. Is in your hands ; she has not seen it. 

Field. For all is false! Mrs. Woodly has de- 
ceived you, because she is deceived herself. 

Gil. Swear you can prove it ! 

Field. As I hope for mercy at the throne of 
Grace ! 

Gil. And be assured ! for in this agonizing 
state, I feel that heaven and earth alike are flying 
from me ! And could I spare him that could now 
betray me ? 

Field. Be satisfied ; for if I could not prove 
the sacred truth, my grief were even deeper than 
your own ! 

* Gil. And yet she made the deadly tale so plain, 
^twould seem that nothing mortal could confound 
the statement. 

Field. Let us be calm ! my heart, like yours, is 
torn. Oh, have I travelled so far, and so fast, to be 
just within one moment of perdition ? — Is every step 
on the common road of life so exactly measured ?— 



96 KEEP YOUR TE.MPER ! 

Awful contemplation ! hair breadth escape ! Is my 
child safe ? Is she well, indeed ? 

Gil. And happy ; for she knows not my dis- 
tress. 

Field. Oh ! all this is wonderful ; what but an 
all-directing hand could have preserved us ? And 
were you, young man, on the point of condemning 
yourself eternally ? what might have been the con- 
sequence, had you been left another hour ? and was 
it, too, at the very time that the Almighty was 
stretching forth his hand to shower his blessings on 
you ? spite of those specious arguments I heard, I 
trembled for you. Oh ! let this be an everlasting 
lesson to you — to every one whom despair has 
seized —let him ask himself, if, at the very moment 
whilst he is madly contemplating self-destruction, 
if the hand of Providence may not just then be 
raised to save him in the storm ! 

Gil. Oh ! my more than father ! if I can but be 
assured of your regard, there is no more adversity 
for me in this world ! 

Field. Are you indeed corrected ? 

Gil. And for ever ! 

Field. We will proceed to business, then ; take 
this disguise, [throwing a cloak over him] you 
must attend me to Mrs. Woodly's ; in proving the 
facts to her, I shall establish your conviction ; but 
do not betray yourself till she is satisfied. 

Gil. I promise ! 

Field. First, however, I must see nry child for a 
moment, and be satisfied that she is well — what a 
moment for a father ! dare you accompany me ? 



A COMEDY. 97 

(HI. Ah, do not doubt me 

Enter Tom. 

Tom. Please you, Sir, the coach is at the door, 
and I met at the house an Irishman, who told me as 
bow that the young lady I inquired about was just re- 
turned from the country, that the old lady was out, 
I mt expected in every hour. 

Field. That is fortunate. 

Tom. And, Sir, before this Irishman would an- 
swer me any one question, I was always obliged to 
answer what he asked first, or I should not have 
brought back any news for you, Sir. 

Field. You have done well ; now take care of 
every thing here till I return : we will go. 

Gil. So fate preserve us. 

[Exeunt together Fielding and Gilbert. 

Tom. So there goes my love and perplexity, with 
another stranger, too, and now must I go on like a 
dutiful servant with my story, and if my master 
would not stay to hear the truth, it cannot be said 
that I have not spoken it ; — I am afraid then, Sir, 
that I have made a very great blunder with this here 
Irishman — [continuing as if addressing his master, 
and turning his head occasionally that way] — but I 
hope, Sir, this confession will gain my pardon. 
This fellow contrived to worm out of me, I cannot 
tell how, all that I had got out of the gentry that 
we have brought with us from the west of England, 
Sir ; and so, Sir, don't be surprised if you hear the 
whole of your own story as soon as you make your 
11 



98 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 

appearance; how many bags of gold you have 
brought with you, how many fine things of all sorts, 
in short, Sir, don't be surprised at any thing — and 
now, Sir, having settled my conscience on this 
point, I'll go look about for your keys, or, mayhap, 
when we have got some miles farther, I shall hear 
less of my love, and more of perplexity. First, I'll 
turn the key of this here door, while I goes see if 
all be safe at that there ; for they say there's a 
rogue at every comer in this same Lunnon. 

[Locks a door, and goes into another room. 



SCENE II.— An Apartment in Mrs. Woodly's 
house. 

Enter Patrick. 

Pat. They talk of a Jew's eye, but sure it will 
now be an Irishman's eye that will be all the go ; 
for if that be not our young master's buckles upon 
that gentleman's feet, Patrick O'Laughligan never 
saw the Land of Saints. £500 reward for him ; 
ah, indeed, if the John Bulls allow me to catch it, 
I shall drink long life to your honors for ever 
[approaching, and bowing to the audience']. £500 ! 
what an elegant estate that will buy me in the Green 
Isle, and, gentlemen, as we fly every day faster and 
faster in our steam- carriages, I hope before I 
have cultivated my lands two years, to be able to 
send you the most beautiful potatoes all hot to mar- 
ket ! Exquisite Mrs. Roper, if you did but know 
of this blessed windfall ! how many a pretty thing 



A COMEDY. 99 

would you have to say to Master Patrick. Oh 
elegant buckles ! it was not for nothing that I took 
so much pains with you, and never allowed any one 
to touch them but myself; so true it is that a good 
turn is never lost — soon as ever I opened the door, 
I espied them, and all muffled as he was, I thought 
I caught his eye ; but the diamond buckles shall be 
my guide, for sure we all know that never a thief in 
Christendom would come to the house he had 
robbed with the goods on his back ! 

[On hearing Mrs. Roper, he retreats a little. 

Enter Mrs. Roper. 

Mrs. Roper. I have now spent three, four, five, 
six pounds, after this £500, and no tidings of him. 
It would try the patience of a saint to have fortune 
so thrown before one, to be within one inch of 
catching, and yet, perhaps, after all, lose it. But 
what can all this crowd of people be come here 
about if not after him ? most likely it is a party from 
the Humane Society, come to ask pay for their 
trouble, at least, if they have not brought any 
tidings about him ; or why not to say where the 
body is now lying ? Have I, then, been travelling- 
far north, whilst the prize is at my elbow ? I will 
hasten into the Steward's room and sift the attend- 
ants, and I will begin the ceremony with a little of 
my cherry brandy ; if that will not do, I despair for 
ever ! [Exit, hastily, Mrs. Roper. 

Patrick advancing. 

Pat. Very wisely said, indeed, Mrs. Roper! 
h 2 



100 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 

"to be within one inch of catching, and yet lose 
the game after all ;" that remark is worth a tin- 
penny piece, and will put me instantly on the alert. 
Yes, yes, whilst you go and sift the good people 
below stairs, I will go to her honor above, and 
honestly and openly win the prize ! [Exit Patrick. 

Enter Mrs. Woodly, Servant following. 

Mrs. Wood. Two strangers ! whom you never 
recollect seeing here before, you say ? 

Servant. Never, madam. 

Mrs. Wood. Say I will attend them immediately. 
[Exit Servant.'] Oh ! these persons must bring me 
some fatal intelligence ; I seek, but tremble to hear 
the truth ; good intelligence it cannot be ! alas ! 
how can I longer conceal from my brother the 
cause of the grief that is destroying me ? how shall 
I be able longer to account for his son's absence ? 
What can all this crowd of persons mean, attending 
those who ask for me ? but I must see them, tho' 
the word be death ! [Exit Mrs. Woodly. 

SCENE III. — An Apartment in Mrs. Woodly's 

House. A Servant shewing in Fielding and 
Gilbert. 

Servant. Mrs. Woodly will attend you in this 
room, in a few minutes, gentlemen. [Exit Servant. 

Gil. Have I, then, performed my promise well ? 

Field. To admiration ! happy hour ! angelic 
sweetness ! it is Maria's self restored to me — one 
little trial to your patience more, be calm, whatever 
be the event ! I hear Mrs. Woodly 



A COMEDY. 101 

Enter Mrs. Woodly. 

{They bow. 

Field. I have the honor to address Mrs. 
Woodly? — The important business which has led 
me here 

Mrs. Wood. Speak, Sir, without farther preface, 
I entreat you. 

Field. Do not be alarmed, madam, I have 
nothing to communicate of an unfortunate nature. 

Mrs. Wood. Is he, then, living ? His father, his 
family, are arrived, but as yet they know nothing. 

Gil. {Apart.'] That is fortunate. 

Field. Be satisfied, madam, you will soon have 
intelligence of the most agreeable nature. 



Enter Patrick, looking cautiously about. 

Mrs. Wood. I will be assured, then 

Pat. Save me, St. Patrick, I am first ; I have 
you, madam Roper : [he approaches Mrs. Woodly] 
one word in your honor's ear. 

Mrs. Wood. Do not you see, Patrick, I am 
engaged ? 

Pat. It is on that account, my lady, I am come 
so to the pint at once ; [lowering his voice and ap- 
proaching nearer] your honor is £500 in my debt, 
I have found out young master. 

Mrs. Wood. And alive ? [Starts. 

[Fielding and Gilbert converse. 

Pal. As ever he was in his life, your honor ! 



102 KEEP YOUR TEMPER 

was it not right, your honor, to tell you without 
delay ? 

Mrs. Wood. Very right, indeed ! I am most 
thankful. 

Pat. And sure, as your honor promised £500 
for him dead, you will split the difference, and make 
golden guineas, now that he is alive ? 

Mrs. Wood. Oh, most willingly ! and to a 
faithful servant, only let me be assured 

Pat. That be he ! but mum ! [pointing to Gil- 
bert] sure, your honor, he'll spake presently ! 

Mrs. Wood. Retire ! and depend upon my 
honor. [Exit Patrick.] What can this mean ? 

Fielding r/w/ Gilbert approach. 

Mrs. Wood. I sincerely entreat your pardon, Sir, 
for this interruption ; you were going to speak 
of 

Field. Gertrude. 

Mrs. Wood. How! 

Field. The facts I have to tell, are strange ; to 
gain your credit I must relate the little story of 
my life. 

Mrs. Wood. Proceed, Sir, I entreat you. 

Field. It was my fate to marry early, madam ; a 
younger son of rank, with little fortune or pre- 
ferment, ardent and enthusiastic, I never doubted 
that success would follow every aspiring effort, that 
I should quickly raise above capricious fortune the 
woman I adored ; but disappointment every where 
pursued me ; and oh ! how doubly galling is the 



A COMEDY. 103 

smart in that same age when hope will natter most ; 
when a beloved object, too, must share the evil, how 
doubly keen is every wound of fate ! 

Mrs, Wood. I sincerely sympathize in your 
concern, Sir, but 

Field. A better fortune seemed to be destined 
for us in a foreign clime ; we only waited for the 
birth of Gertrude to quit the kingdom ; oh, wretched 
hour for me ! heart-rending stroke ! the mother of 
my child survived the event but three short weeks ! 

Mrs. Wood. Alas, indeed ! but then 

Field, Ah ! then I placed my infant with a poor 
female who had just lost her child, and when I saw 
she fostered mine with care, I hastened to depart, 
resolved to seek for fortune for my daughter's sake. 

Mrs. Wood. Still I imagine some mistake — your 
child might be named Gertrude. The nurse, who 
was she ? 

Field. The story told abroad, she had lost her 
husband shortly after her marriage. The decent 
sorrow in her looks expressed, and her retired be- 
haviour seemed to confirm, a tale which in itself was 
not remarkable ; pardon me now, if the necessity for 
speaking strictest truth, obliges me to state un- 
pl easing facts, — she came from the west of Eng- 
land, madam. 

Mrs. Wood. Ha, indeed ! 

Field. Alike to escape reproach herself, and 
screen from public censure Sir Rupert Gainsford — ■ 

Mrs. Wood. Proceed, Sir ; I entreat you, in all 
haste proceed ! [In an agitated manner. 

Gil. [Apart] Merciful providence ! 



104 KEEP Yt)UR TEMPER 1 . 

Field. This woman, it appears, received from 
you a quarterly allowance ; she, fearing that your 
bounty might diminish, were you informed that she 
had lost her child, neglected to apprize you. 

Mrs. Wood. Oh, welcome news ! oh, blest dis- 
covery ! oh, unexpected hour ! 

Field. Appointing as I thought a worthy agent, 
I left my country : but I was most deceived in him I 
trusted ; from time to time remitting money, the 
villain frequently contrived to give me different as- 
surances as from my daughter's self; he heard of 
my approach, and fled inquiring justice : — to return, 
the infant grew, and you most unexpectedly de- 
manded her ; the nurse, perplexed, and hearing 
nothing from me, resolved, after some self-debate, 
to keep the secret, and happy to resign the child to 
one so truly worthy, she brought her to this house, 
and, as she says, you asked no questions, and she 
told no falsehood. 

Mrs. Wood. 'Tis true as wonderful ! had your 
child any mark by which you could farther re- 
cognize her, if it were not already sufficiently 
proved ? 

Field. She was born with a deep brown circle 
on her left arm. 

Mrs. Wood. Farther proofs are not necessary^ 
witnesses are superfluous. 

Field. Excuse me, madam, you must examine 
them all, I trust you will, if only to oblige me — I 
have brought the nurse herself — the village doctor, 
too, is here, in whose arms your real niece expired 
three weeks before my child was born ; and next, 



A COMEDY. 105 

the reverend vicar who registered the birth of 
Gertrude; and other witnesses I have assembled. 

Mrs. Wood. Why you have acted as one accus- 
tomed to such suits ! 

Field. Ah, madam, what sits so near the heart, 
is always nicely measured by the head. 

Mrs. Wood. To whom, Sir, may I now inquire, 
must I resign this precious charge ? 

Gil. To me ! to me ! I have heard the sacred 
truth, she is mine for ever ! 

[Throwing off his cloak. 

Mrs. Wood. Was ever happiness like this ? 

[Falls on his shoulder embracing him. 

Gil. You know not how much we owe to our 
benefactor here ; blessed meeting ! 

Mrs. TVood. I am not yet favoured with his 
name. 

Field. 5 Tis Edward Fielding, madam. 

Mrs. Wood. And, if I mistake not, you mar- 
ried 

Field. Maria Went worth. 

Mrs. Wood. Oh, strange coincidence! blessed 
discovery ! then in my bosom I have lodged your 
child, my early friend Maria! 

Field. Ha, indeed ! I have often heard her re- 
gret the interruption of your correspondence — now 
let us proceed to the witnesses. 

[Exeunt Mrs. Woodly, Fielding, and Gil- 



106 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 



SCENE IV. — An Apartment in Mrs. Woodly's 
house. 

Enter Patrick. 

Pat. Her honor lias passed her word, and will 
never be after drawing back ; and though it be true that 
she would have heard the good news half an hour after 
I brought it ; sure we all know what half a second 
is, when life or death is in question : well, by this 
time madam Roper's company from the Humane 
Society have made an elegant dinner, and the 
cream of the jest, the bottle of cherry brandy is 
half emptied ; some news, I think, must be forth- 
coming, ah, here she is. 

Enter Mrs. Roper, a bottle in her hand, holding it up. 

Mrs. Roper. Scarce three glasses left, never in 
my life did I meet with such a set of stupid animals ; 
after wasting my bottle, all the tidings they pretend 
to have, is about a young lady. Can he have 
changed his dress ? I never thought of that. 

Patrick coming forward. 

rat. Mrs. Roper, I was just thinking it would 
be a shocking thing if this money were to go out of 
the family. Can you tell me if the Serpentine has 
been dragged yet, or whether the body be found, 
dead or alive ? 

Mrs. Roper. Stupid fool ! if thou hadst had a 



A COMEDY. 107 

grain of common sense, thou would'st have taken 
thy long-hooked shillaly, and have dragged him out 
thyself. 

Pat. Ah ! but thinks I, what is the use of my 
troubling myself to go so far, when, perhaps, the 
prize is at my elbow ; and, as all this company must 
be come about young master, I have made up my 
mind, whilst my half-witted fellow-servants are 
running after tag-rag and bob-tail, in the steward's 
room, cracking, perhaps, a bottle of their mistress's 
best, by way of sifting out the poor people's ho- 
nesty, I have made up my mind, I say, like a true 
gentleman, like a true-born Irishman, with my new 
wig to proceed to the fountain head, to the two 
gentlemen in the drawing-room, who came with the 
company, and ask them in an open honest manner, 
of they are after bringing any news of young master. 
There is nothing like going to the fountain head, 
Mrs. Roper. 

Mrs. Roper. Dip thy own stupid head into the 
fountain, and I'll dip this into the fire. 

[Mrs. Roper snatches off the wig, and exit 
hastily. Patrick very composedly takes 
a kerchief from his pocket, and puts it on 
his head. 

Pat. Ha, ha, ha ! madam Roper, what would 
thy vengeance be if thou wert to know all the luck 
that has showered on my pate this morning ? But 
merit and virtue will have their reward in this world, 
and so they will in the next, says St. Patrick. And 
now must I go after my other wig, that I may not 
have to shew my face like Johnny Gilpin's. 



108 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 

Enter, hastily, Sir Rupert Gainsford, Lucy, 
Arthur, Dr. Linton. 

Sir Rupert. Where is lie ? 

[Sir Rupert runs up to Patrick without 
waiting to look at him, and throwing his 

arms round him, exclaims 

Sir Rupert. Oh thou lucky boy ! 
Pat. Ah ! lucky, indeed, your honor, though I 
have lost my wig this morning. 

[Sir Rupert starting back — the whole company 
laughing. 
Sir Rupert. Why, what mistake is this ? they 
told me my son was here. 

Pat. Never mind, your honor, it is all very right, 
when fortune smiles upon us, it becomes quite asy 
for the great to caress us — sure, your honor, I expect 
to be very often hugged in this way now. 

Sir Rupert. But where is he ? lead me to him, 
let me see him ; I have received this note saying 

he would be here, the lady — all friends 

Pat. This way if you please, Sir, I believe they 
are in the next room ; your honor will excuse my 
head, I was just going after my old wig ; madam 
Roper, the housekeeper here, having stolen my new 
one. 

Sir Rupert. Never mind, friend, we will find 
you another. 

[Exit Patrick, Sir Rupert and others follow- 
ing. 



A COMEDY. 10£) 



SCENE V.— The Library. J/r*. Woodly, Field- 
ing, Gilbert. 

Mrs. Wood. I trust you will detain your com- 
pany for a few days, 1 would have them share in 
our rejoicings. 

Sir Rap. (entering) Where is he ? Where is 
my son Gilbert? 

[Sir Rupert falls on Gilbert's neck. 

Gil. Dear Sir, this unlooked for happiness, the 
distance so great 

Enter Lucy. 

Sweet sister, so much felicity in one day ! 

[Embracing Lucy. 

Enter Dr. Linton and Arthur, Gertrude, 
Lady Aubrette, and Sir John. 

Gert. [To Mrs. Woodly] My dear, dear 
benefactress ! 

Mrs. Wood. Do I see you again ? and happy 
as my heart could wish ? 

Gert. My father ! how long have these few 
moments appeared to me ! 

Field. My child, what do I owe to Mrs. 
Woodly's care ! 

Gert. If to devote my life to you and Mrs. 
Woodly 



110 KEEP YOUR TEMPER 

Field. And another claimant here, whose merits 
I support. 

[Fielding joins the hands of Gilbert and 
Gertrude. 
Gil. Dear Gertrude, it were vain to seek for 
words to express our thanks to our friends, our 
happiness, our gratitude. 

Gert. Our happiness will be their best reward. 
Gil. Lucy, this day the happiest of my life. 

[Joins the hands of Lucy and Gertrude. 
Lucy. Sweet sister, I do rejoice, and thank my 
brother most sincerely for thus enriching me ; [em- 
bracing] how charming it is to have a sister ! 

Gert. How fully blest it makes me 

[Gilbert looking significantly at Lady Au- 

BRETTE. 

Gil. My father, you have heard of her perfec- 
tions? [Gilbert presenting her to Sir Rupert. 

Sir Rupert. I am sure she is an angel ! [Sir 
Rupert embraces Gertrude] the portrait was 
most faithful. 

Sir John. Spare my wife's blushes, [to Gil- 
bert] she is quite reformed ! 

Lady Aub. Oh ! would we were all so, and as 
easily. 

Enter, hastily, Holland. 

Roll. "Where is my charmer? [running up to 
Lucy] Do I at last behold her ? 

Sir Rupert. S'death, Sir, what do you mean ? 



A COMEDY. Ill 

Roll. In few words, that I have posted after you 
on the wings of impatience, fully determined to 
decamp with this lady, and not being able to over- 
take you on the road here, I have found you out ; 
the coach is at the door — four fleet horses — and 
now, who shall dare to dispute with me ? 

Sir Rupert. Madman, be gone, or I shall in- 
stantly send for Bow Street officers. 

Roll. I can save you that trouble ; they are, 
great and small, in previous requisition ; I have sent 
them after some highwaymen who stopped me on the 
road, and prevented my overtaking you. 

[Si?" Rupekt rings. 

Enter a Servant. 

Sir Rupert. Turn this madman out ! 

[Mrs. Woodly rings. 

Enter Patrick. 

Mrs. Wood, Turn this madman out, and give 
him to the police ! 

Roll. No, turn that madman out, he has long 
been a barrier to my happiness — at the peril of your 
lives, gentlemen ! 

[Both Servants approach him, and he presents a 
pistol to each in a menacing manner, on which 
they start back. 
Dr. L. Let me persuade you to retire. 
Gil. Let me advise you, Rolland. 
[Points at the Doctor — Sir Rupert rings 
again. 



112 KEEP TOUR TEMPER! 

Enter more Servants. 

Sir Rupert. Instantly dispatch some one to Bow- 
street for officers. 

Mrs. Wood, Let there be no delay. 

[Exit one of the Servants. 

Sir John. Why don't you boldly turn him out, 

now there are half a dozen of you, for if the Officers 

are not to be found' ■ 

Sir Rupert. We may have this annoyance the 
whole day : what are you afraid of? 

[The Servants approach and struggle with him, 
he fires over the head of one, and they all run 

off scared, calling out 

Servants. Oh ! I am shot ! I am shot ! I am a 
dead man ! 

Pat. Why don't you boldly stand fire, gentle- 
men, like a true Irishman ? 

[Patrick runs after the others as fast as possi- 
ble. 
Roll. Now nothing remains but a coup de main, 
come along wife. 

[Roll and attempts to move off with Lucy, 
taking her arm— she disengages herself. 
Arthur. S'death, Sir, I challenge you to answer 
this. 

Lucy. Be assured, Sir, I have been silent so long, 
only from the positive conviction that you are mad 
indeed. 

Field. It appears to me, Sir Rupert, that this 
contest might be very quietly ended— dispose of the 
lady to one of the candidates. 



A COM ED V. 115 

Roll. You are a reasonable man — that is all I 
require — only let there be no delay ; I abominate 
all shilly-shally. 

Lady Aub. Now I like him for that, Sir John. 

Roll. If I had not met with bad horses on the 
road, Sir Rupert should have surrendered long ago. 
I have known him these thirty years, I know we may 
all grow grey in waiting for his consent, I will say 
more, I know that if I were the King's son, he would 
not give it — therefore what can a sincere lover do in 
such a case. [Sir Rupert walks about disturbedly. 

Gil. Dear sister, make your choice. 

Gert. Sir Rupert cannot on this happy day 

Roll. Neglect to make you happy — tell him how 
long in secret you have adored me. 

Arthur. Oh ! speak now, and free me from this 
cruel suspense. 

Roll. Silence, all the world over gives consent ; 
come, dearest spouse. 

[Arthur places himself at the door as if to 
guard it. 

Lucy. Dear papa, your choice must be mine. 

Sir Rupert. Take her, she is yours by right of 
constancy. [Sir Rupert gives Lucy to Arthur. 

Arthur. How shall I express my gratitude ! 

Lucy. My dear father, you confirm our hap- 
piness. 

Roll. SMeath and confusion, am I thus foiled ? 
Here's a deep coquette ! Oh false sex ! perfidious 
woman ! Have I travelled so far and so fast after 
you, to be betrayed at the end. 

Dr. L. Keep your temper ! 



114 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 

Sir John. No occasion now, I believe, for any- 
official member, save and excepting the old priest 
which our noble friend Fielding has brought 
with him from the west of England. 

Field. You are right, Sir John ; and, with Sir 
Rupert's permission, we will immediately employ him. 
Sir Rupert. Oh, by all means, we will spare 
Mr. Madcap here any farther flights after us. 

[Roll and sings. 
I lov'd a maid, she me betray'd, 

Good care I'll take so don't another- 

Sir John. Then we shall have three weddings 
on this day. 

Lady Aub. How, Sir John, three ? 
Sir John. Why, yes ; a new wife I have gained 
in thee ! 

And now 'bove all things let me recommend 
To each whom it concerns, or foe, or friend ; 
To keep your temper in this world of strife ! 
Be calm to rule, be calm to improve a wife. 
Gil. Let him rejoice who never rashly ties 
The marriage knot ; — 

Sir Rupert. — There my son's merit lies. 
Roll. 
Let him rejoice, who makes each folly prove, 
A delegate of friendship or of love ! 
Who, acting wildly, has a sober end, 
Who plays the fool mad folly to amend, 
Whose final interest in the present game 
Your smile to win — to consummate his fame. 

[To the audience. 
The curtain falls. 



THE FATE OF 



IVAN. 



% ©vageuj?, in dft&e 8cto< 



i2 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Count Panim, Prime Minister. 

The Hetman Razumoffsky. 

Orloff, favourite of Catharine. 

Passick. 

Gleboff. 

Odart. 

The Archbishop of Novgorod. 

IsMAEL. 

Adherents to Catharine at the time of the revolu- 
tion which placed her upon the throne. 
Paul Petrovitch, Catharine's son. 
Guards, Soldiers, Sfc. 



The Czar. 
General Munich. 
Baron Korf. 
Baron Sternberg. 
Volkoff. 
Prince Ivan. 
Count Leof. 

Adherents of the Czar. 
Berednikoff. 

Vlassief and Ischekin, Guards to Ivan. 
Lieutenant Mirovitch. 



Catharine, Empress of the Russians, 

Princess Dashkoff, her friend. 

Countess Yorothtzoyt, favourite of the Czar. 

Catharine Ivanofna, attendant and confidante of the 

Empress. 
Pages, Sfc. 



*#* In the general parts of this piece, close regard is 
paid to historical facts, and the lines in inverted 
commas are the literal speeches of the persons at the 
time of action. 



THE FATE OF IVAN. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I.— The front of the Imperial Palace of 
Peterhoff. 

Enter Catharine Ivanofna 'one way, meeting 
Orloff from the opposite side. 

Kate. Ha, Orloff! by thy good stars, thou 
art the very person of whom Pm sent in quest. 

Orloff. And by anticipation here I come. 

Kate. Aye, indeed? 

Orloff. Most true ; but look out there, shrewd 
nymph ! can thy lynx eye ; dost think, discover what 
those courtiers have in plot 1 [Pointing out. 

Kate. Had'st thou but shewn me eyes instead of 
heels — a formidable tribe at least : eagles in mul- 
titudes are seldom found ; when the thing happens, 
e'en wise men think it ominous; so far I see, and 
farther still presage, thou wilt be wanted for some 
mighty deeds ; thy valour Catharine knows ; mis- 
chief is on the wing ! 

Orloff. Where women are, there ne'er is lack of 
that. 

Kate. Look well, then, to thyself ! the favourite 
of a royal fair needs more than mortal caution to 



118 THE TATE OF IVAN: 

preserve him, and every ray in the bright halo 
round him is but a pointed dart that threats at every 
turn; wise men ne'er seek the danger; for thee, I do 
sincerely give thee credit, thou didst not court it ; 
our mistress honors every sort of merit, and none so 
prompt as she to mark its growth, so 

Orloff. Hist ! prithee, hist ! and be upon thy 
wont discretion ; this way those giants in the sphere 
of power are moving, and should they see us, they'll 
set their heads to work, nor rest till they determine 
the cause of converse 'twixt us. 

Kate. To prevent which I'll cover my retreat, 
so thou'lt perceive I'm not a general merely for the 
hour of conquest ; in half an hour do thou pursue 
my path. 

Orloff. I will not fail thee, for depend upon't — 

Kate. He is but half a lover who does not time 
outstrip in his appointment. 

Orloff. I understand, and scarcely can determine 
which is the fittest for plodding through this life, or 
Catharine Empress, or subject Kate, or which, in 
self-esteem, is most a Queen ! 

Kate. I'll aid thy judgment as I see the cause ; 
she who must him and him admire, may wear a 
crown, but is withal a slave ; and she may reign, 
indeed, if all around her, like myself, be faithful, 
but there's no if or but with one like me ; swayed 
by no passion, no caprice directed, myself I govern, 
all about me rule ; so thereof think, and let thy 
honest thought decide, which, in effect and truth, is 
most a queen ! \_Exit Kate. 

Orloff. To have chosen thee for confidante in 



A TRAGEDY. 119 

Cupid's train, and me for General in the field of 
Mars, doth in thy mistress give all title to supre- 
macy, and thy self-love and mine should be content 
— but let me save myself the hearing of those 
fellows, who would pretend to have no other idol 
than their country, no music dearer than the clang 
of arms, the drum's proud rattle, and the dancing 
fife — yet place these busy praters in the field, hush'd 
is their din, their pleasure and their prowess vanish ; 
present the danger, and their virtue flies, 'tis chaff 
before the wind ! Nature has made me plain in- 
deed in phrase, denied me power to parley with the 
statesman, or to advance my cause by any art of 
soft persuasion, yet, as they say, she has so moulded 
me, that where I am but seen, I cannot fail to please ; 
how that may be I know not — care not — thankful I 
am, she has bestowed a heart that never shrinks at 
any form of danger, that if there be a peril to be 
sought, will, with all ardour, all impatience, seek in 
the thickest oft the foremost place. 

[Exit Orloff. 



SCENE II. — An Apartment in the Palace of 
Peterhoff — Catharine, and Princess Dash- 
koff — a table, on which are spread papers. 

Enter Kate. 

Kate. Your Majesty will be obeyed most 
speedily, I have this moment seen the person you 
require. 



120 THE FATE OF IVAN: 

Cath. Tis well, my friend, I have no further 
orders at this moment. [Exit Kate. 

Dash. Gone, you say, and no one whither 
knows ? 

Cath. Not so, in truth, I am informed of all ; 
doubtless, Vorontzoff has accompanied him. 

Dash. Had I but seen her, she should have con- 
fessed. 

Cath. Poor soul ! she does not then resemble 
Princess DashkofF. 

Dash. Nature, who loves variety, ne'er formed 
two beings so exactly opposite. 

Cath. Now mark my thought — Peter, all honest 
as he seems, can with the most profound intriguer 
turn and wind, and give by his deeds the lie to his 
assertions ; know, then, this day the Czar is gone to 
Schusselberg — hence, hence, the secresy. 

Dash. But for what purpose is he gone ? 

Cath. One motive only can there be for such 
proceeding, and that the blackest a Herod could 
devise ; Paul Petrovitch, the life-blood of my 
heart — our only son — him, even him, he means to 
exclude the throne — me to imprison in the very cell 
that now holds Ivan — the next step — but need I 
mention Vorontzoff ? 

Dash. Ah, indeed ! 

Cath. Such is the present plot, e'en ripe for exe- 
cution — think, then, what speedy measures must be 
ours to arrest the evil ; how prompt must I be to 
design — how full of danger must each purpose be ? 
and last, how unsuccessful may each project prove ? 

Dash. I cannot think. 



A TRACED V. 121 

Cath. Hast thou never heard the supposition of 
a plan like this ? 

Dash. No, no, I thought that she like you 
would be excluded, that Peter was to espouse a 
certain Princess. 

Cath. Ah ! that was but the rumour of a day, 
which rose in consequence, of some slight umbrage 
VorontzorT had given the Czar ; soon was the offence 
forgotten, and present death the sickly fancy found. 
A gain that Princess has been long betrothed to one 
she dearly loves. 

Dash. Shall she, shall VorontzorT be one day 
seated on the Imperial throne of Russia ? Shall 
she preside o'er this vast empire, and when the fate 
of millions is in question, shall it be her voice that 
shall balance in the question ? 

Cath. [apart] I like this indignation. 

Dash. Ah ! then what dread perversion in the 
land shall be, for when the women once become 
depraved, then may we bid adieu to virtue in the 
men : already fallen is that state, where our sex 
violate their marriage vows, and blooming virgins 
openly transgress the laws of nice discretion. Im- 
mortal Peter ! shall thy beloved country, for which 
thou did'st so much, be governed thus ?■ Am I the 
sister of this woman, too ? 

Cath. Good Dashkoff, tell me, what would thy 
noble soul in such a case ? 

Dash. Whatever might become the mother of 
the emperor, that would I instantly resolve to do. 

Cath. To be the mother of the emperor is the 
grand summit of my soul's ambition — our first step 



122 THE TATE OF IVAN I 

now must be to prove our friends, next see who will 
become our partizans ; Panin, I know, is ours ; tho* 
the first politician in our empire, Peter has never 
deigned once to consult him ; tho' the politest 
scholar Russia boasts, no deference has been paid 
to his opinion ; 'tis true, that he is biassed to his 
systems, but yet • 

Dash. A perfect diamond to the crown. 

Cath. The Hetman Razumoffsky, boldly avows 
himself our friend, and he has power which lends 
our cause no common force. Gleboff we must dis- 
pose, and use him cautiously — who has betrayed one 
master can deceive another. 

[Catharine writes in a book. 

Dash. There is one OrlofF, in the Guards, most 
noted for his bravery, no danger can affright him, 
no peril check him in pursuit of glory. 

Cath. He is a soldier for our cause, I have en- 
rolled him. The Frenchman, Odart, who never 
speaks without convincing metaphor, nor ever turns 
to do the simplest thing, but by some artful means, 
he is most fitted for intrigue, and being poor enough, 
will condescend to any work for gain. Passick, 
rude and ferocious as the untamed bear, for every 
office of sedition might be hired. 

Dash. The Prince Volkonsky inherits from his 
kinsman, Bestuchoff, fierce hatred 'gainst the Czar. 

Cath. Hate such as his at nothing stops to 
satiate its vengeance — I set him down. 

[Marks in her book. 

Dash. The Archbishop of Novgorod, tho' late 
in exile, he retains some powerful influence. 



A TRAGEDY. 123 

Catlt Aye, on the circumstance of that same 
exile I build my hopes of him. You know for 
what offence the Czar had banished him, you have 
heard how raved the prelate when condemned ; 
scarce three months had he been proscribed, when 
the relenting Peter from captivity recalled him, and 
now that he has proved the monarch's clemency so 
speedily on the keen-felt severity, 'tis more like 
human nature, and the Bishop, to feel the sting of 
deep resentment 'gainst the offence, rather than 
aught of gratitude for mercy born of rigour. 

Dash. We have him ours ! I will return im- 
mediately to Petersburgh, where all is now in train 
to favour Catharine, where every one looks expect- 
ation of some great commotion, where many 
valiant regiments await my word, to know which 
way to turn. 

Cath. Tis true, that many of these men are men, 
in fact, on whom Pd not rely for more than passing 
services ; incapable of nice fidelity ; fit they may be 
to serve an hour's necessity, and 'tis for that we 
want them. 

Dash. Your Majesty must haste to plan the 
means of your escape ; if you reach Petersburgh 
before the Czar returns, the troops will rise and 
instantly proclaim you ! 

Cath. These last three days, I have devised, 
reflected, and concluded, and now I only wait the 
coming of the minister and others I have named, 
to fix the moment, and speedily they will be here. 

Dash. I'll lose no time, but instantly return to 
meet them. [Edit Dashkoff. 



124 THE FATE OF IVAN I 

Cath. My foes are feathers, — yet these in mul- 
titudes weigh mightily ; let me not forget fools can 
use weapons, the weak will find supporters ; happy 
the monarch who possesses courage, and who re- 
solves to persevere on every intricate occasion. 

[Exit Catharine. 

SCENE III.— The outside of the Castle of Schus- 
selberg. Soldiers on guard: amongst them Lieu- 
tenant Mirovitch. 

Mirov. Some strangers, I perceive, have entered 
the town. 

1st Sol. Indeed ! what can lead strangers here ? 

2nd Sol. This being a strange place, thick 
head ! 

1st Sol. Can it be to see the prisoner, Lieu- 
tenant ? 

Mirov. "lis not unlike, and not unfit. 

2nd Sol. I'll tell thee better, 'tis to make an 
exchange, — relieve guard ; Peter intends to tame 
the lady Catharine in Ivan's cell. 

Mirov. He dares not. 

2nd Sol. So much the worse for him. 

1st Sol. 'Tis time there were some change. 

3rd Sol. Aye, fifteen years this very day, Ivan 
has been a prisoner here. 

Mirov. Poor youth ! once Russia's Emperor 
proclaimed. 

2nd. Sol. A change, indeed ! the very thought 
should reconcile thee to thy fate, Lieutenant ? 



A TRAGEDY. 125 

Mirov. Thou mule ! dost think that minds like 
mine can peace extract from such a morbid source? 
say that the thought should give me double motive 
for rebellion ; say I have more than selfish reasons 
to revolt against injustice ; say that I look upon his 
darker fate ; say that I add his sorrow to my own, 
and have a twofold cause in which to move ! 

2nd Sol. Dost thou know what thou'rt called in 
the regiment, when they don't chuse to mention thy 
name ? 

Mirov. That which I am, perhaps. 

2nd. Sol. Right ;— Master Mysterious ! 

Mirov. Granted, — too good for vice to spell my 
very name, and too profound for shallow-sighted 
things like thee, to see what lies beneath the surface 
of my brain. 

2nd Sol. Some men there are that grow too deep 
to understand themselves ; thou takest me in good 
part, Lieutenant ? 

Mirov. I take thee as I should, well-meant, and 
better understood. 

1st Sol. To your posts, instantly ; the strangers 
are moving this way, gentlemen. 

Mirov. 'Tis, certe ! retire, my friends, [to some 
soldiers in the back ground] You keep on watch 
with me ; [to the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Soldier] we'll 
reconnoitre 'bout the fortress, to hear what we can 
hear, and see what we can see. 

3rd Sol. 'Tis all within the line of duty. 

Mirov. In truth, they are of very portly appear- 
ance ! 

1st Sol. They are here. 



126 THE PATE OF IVAN: 

Mirov. Haste, let us cover our retreat. 

[Exeunt Mirov itch and Soldiers, 

Enter Czar, attended by Count Leof, Volkoff, 
Baron Sternberg, Baron Korf, and General 
Munich. 

Czar. ' Now, Gentlemen, attend, I pray you, to 
' my injunctions ; this paper, signed by my hand, 
' gives to the bearers of it, free access to every part 
' of this same castle Schusselberg. I will conceal 
' the ensigns of my dignity, and Leof to the prince 
' shall represent me ; but first, we'll make our local 
' observations. In this disguise, Berednikoff may 
' fail to know us ; but if it fit the occasion, ere we 
' depart we may proclaim ourselves.' 

Korf. ' And I presume I, too, may pass un- 
' noticed ; he has not seen me for these fourteen 
* years.' 

Yolk. ' I would not wager that, good Korf, the 
1 more confined the sphere of observation, the more 
■ exact is its direction ; and the less charged the 
1 memory, the deeper graven are the events which it 
c records.' 

Czar. You may be right, friend Volkoff, but we 
will try the event ; haste, let us look about the fort. 

[Exeunt. 

Re-enter Mirovitch and Soldiers. 

Mirov. Scarce could I catch a word, the plotters 
spoke so low. 



A TRAGEDY. 127 

1st Sol. I do believe the Czar is one amongst 
them. 

Mirov. I think so too. 

Enter the Governor Berednikoff. 

2nd. Sol. Aye, and 'tis he that is the most dis- 
guised. 

Mirov. [to Beredntkoff] How now, Governor, 
that you are not at your corner-post, when visitors 
of so much importance come about you ? 

Gov. How ! what visitors, say Mirovitch ? 

Mirov. What think you of the Czar himself? 

Gov. The Czar ! is't possible ? 

[Exit, hastily > Governor. 

1st Sol. In truth, you've scared him. 

2nd Sol. Should it not be the Czar ? 

Mirov. I long to be assured ; for if it is, 'twere 
now, perhaps, a happy time to ask the restitution of 
the forfeited estates of Mirovitch, which have so 
long been due to me. 

1^ Sol. I wish you all success, Lieutenant, but 
for my part I doubt it much. 

Mirov. I'll persevere, till they are wearied out 
by my petitions, and grant my prayer in pity to 
themselves. 

1st Sol. I would not hazard one day's pay upon 
thy chance ; audacious Kate gains every day more 
power. 

Mirov. The lands are fat, indeed. 

2nd Sol. And she is thrifty. 

3rd. Sol. Subjects like thee, 'tis policy to starve. 



128 THE FATE OF IVAN : 

2nd Sol. When the bold lion feels the qualms of 
hunger, he seeks with dauntless toil and keen avidity 
his prey ; but feed him well, and give him all the 
creature needs, in royal ease he readily reposes, as 
graciously as any lady's lap-dog. 

1st. Sol. Aye, sooth, indeed, for some bold en- 
terprise, thou'rt fit and ready, when Catharine finds 
some apt occasion for thy arm. 

2nd Sol. And then, mayhap, she will most 
graciously reward thee, by giving to thee that which 
is already thine ; or shouldst thou lose thy life in 
the achievement, she'll keep the lands, and set upon 
thy grave a stone, that will declare with as much 
feeling as herself for what thou didst, thy merit, and 
misfortunes. 

Mirov. If 'tis for this she keeps me in subjec- 
tion, then let her learn to feel ; lions there are, 
which, in undue restraint, live patient and sub- 
missive for a time, but, in the end, collecting all 
their fire, turn with fierce rage against their sordid 
keeper. 

1st. Sol. But try the temper of the Czar ; perhaps 
he's sober. 

Mirov. And if at night he drown the thoughts 
of Mirovitch, what will avail, that now he hear me ; 
yet as I have proposed, I will petition ; they come 
this way again, let us retire and watch our oppor- 
tunity. [Exeunt Mirovitch and Soldiers. 



A TRAGEDY. 



V29 



SCENE IV.— A Cell— The interior of the Fortress 
of Schusselberg— Prince Ivan seated on a bundle 
of straw, a lamp burns near him, he has a leaf in 
his hand on which he appears to have been making 
some calculation. 

Iran. Yes, 'tis fifteen years to-day ! full fifteen 
years I have been here a prisoner, full fifteen years, 
thou glorious sun, since I have hailed in thy fair 
light the morn ! Oh potent source of health, of life, 
of joy, must thou then never shine again for me ? 
shall this pale lamp be still my sole companion? 
Well, well, 'tis light enough to shew me all the 
horrors that surround me ; e'en here, there may be 
mercy ; yes, idle fancy is at least arrested, and true it 
is, that she can ever wrap the unseen in darker 
colours than the truth has drawn it. Ah, I remem- 
ber (as I was hither led), a haggard wretch who sat 
beneath a hawthorn bush, on which, in sparkling 
beauty, had the frost of keen December set the 
pearly icicle— like the declining year the creature 
seemed ; yet I could see a smile upon that face, 
and the bright glow of heaven-born peace, and in- 
ward hope, and joy, shot like a sun-beam from his 
hollow eye, gladdening the very desolation time had 
made upon him — his beard was long, and with sur- 
rounding snows in whiteness vied— scarce was he 
covered from the piercing cold, he held upon his 
knee a broken platter, where bones, and crusts, and 
many-coloured scraps were mingled ; and in the 
luxury of full content he ate his meal, whilst in the 



130 THE FATE OF IVAN I 

bounty of his soul he threw a morsel to the faithful 
dog, which crouched beside him, looking, expecting, 
patient, waiting still the welcome tribute. Blest 
was this man, for the wide canopy of heaven to him 
displayed its glories, happy was he, for he could 
claim a friend, and was not separated from him ! 

Enter Vlassief, and Ischekin — Vlassief takes up a 
pitcher and looks within it. 

Vlass. Ha! there's enough to serve him two 
days longer. Ivan is not so fond of drink as 
Peter. 

Isch. He who rejects the grape, will sometimes 
like to quaff the stronger juice, and who preserves 
his moderation, occasion lacking him to sin, may be, 
where opportunity occurs, as deep a sinner as the 
murderer Cain. 

Vlass, Let's try how he will like the smell of 
something good. 

Isch. You draw the reins too tight, good 
Master Vlassieff. 

Ivan. Oh would I knew the hour ! 

Isch. Poor soul, he talks of time. 

Ivan. Still forbid to speak to me ? 

Vlass. I cannot talk the finger-tongue, can'st 
thou? 

Isch. Not a jot, not a jot, but by great Peter I 
will tell him ! 

Vlass. Better not open thy mouth for that pur- 
pose — to-morrow is examination day. 

Isch. What's become of the old time-piece he 
used to hug so closely. 



A TRAGEDY. 131 

Vlass. The hungry vermin, finding nothing bet- 
ter, devoured it ; as if they thought time was no 
friend to Ivan. 

Isc/i. Why, dull pate, didst not sooner think upon 
the means ? 

[Ischekin writes the hoar on a piece of paper, 
and presents it to Ivan, Ivan kisses the 
paper. 

Ivan. Tis twelve ! the sun has reached his 
greatest height o'er Petersburgh ! Generous man ! 
I thank you ! Oh how delightful is the smallest par- 
ticle of aught that borders on intelligence, to him 
who lives in utter darkness of all that passes round 
him. Generous man ! I know thy kindness cannot 
reach me further, yet for this simple act, I'll give 
thee credit for a world of favour, and with a grateful 
heart, the debt of the intention pay. 

Vlass. What a wild joy lights in his eye, and all 
about the hour. 

Isch. Poor youth ! doubtless he sighs to know 
how long 'twill be, ere he shall be released from this 
hard life, to share a better fate hereafter. 

Vlass. Who likes to sink on such a chance, so let 
him ; for my own part, I'd rather have a crampt exist- 
ence in a cockle-shell, than die to seek a wider scale 
of being. 

Isch. So every knave and every coward would ; 
not that I mean to say thou art or one or t'other. 

Vlass. The one confess'd, and t'other is to try ; 

hence, on the doubt it is, I choose a mixture of the 

good and evil here, to the sad chance of losing all 

hereafter. [The drum beats. 

K 2 



i32 THE FATE OF IVAN I 

Isch. Hark, they are drawing up, we must pro- 
ceed. 

Ivan. Oh ! would I might obey the cheerful 
summons. 

Vlass. 'Tis earlier than usual. 
Isch. To-day thou knowest there is a change of 
guard. 

Vlass. Ah true, I had forgotten. 

[The drum again. 
Ivan. Can I not be a servant to the call ? 

[Ivan rises and appears agitated. 
Isch. Alas, indeed ! 
Vlass. Move on. 

Isch. Would Heaven that I had never had this 
place ! each time we turn the key, he feels a mortal 
pang. 

Vlass. We shall be nobly pensioned, think of 

that. [Exeunt Vlassief and Ischekin. 

[The sound of the drum and trumpet continues, 

I van rises and follows them with the utmost 

emotion to the farthest part of the Stage. 

Ivan. Oh could I follow them ! could I but see 

a glimpse of day-light — ah ! now they turn the key. 

It opens, alas ! it opens, but not for me ! *tis shut 

again — all, all is dark, dark as the fate of Ivan. 

[He sighs, and stretches himself on the straw, 
the scene closes. 



END OF ACT I. 



A TRACEDY. 



ACT II. 



SCENE I.— The Cell of Ivan.— Ivan stretched 
on his couch. Enter Vlassief and Ischekin, Ivan 
raises himself on their entering. 

Vlass. -Tis rather strange that the order should 
extend to the visiting this cell. 

Isch. With half an eye thou mightest perceive 
that is their only object in coming here. 

Vlass. Aye, indeed ! I thank thee for the 
thought, dost know any of the strangers ? 

Isch. No, but I suspect them ; something may 
be done, perhaps, to soften the fate of the prisoner. 

Ivan. Ah, indeed ! can I hope any thing ? 

Vlass. I hear them coming, we must proceed to 
the outer guard. {Exeunt Vlassief and Ischekin. 

Enter the Czar, Count Leof, Munich, Korf, 
Volkonsky, Sternberg. 

Czar, [apart to officers'] ' Do not seem to ob- 

1 serve him yet. [Czar looking about] Oh Munich! 

' what a place is this for one who once was Russia's 

1 emperor proclaimed.' [Appearing affected. 

Munich. ' My heart bleeds for him.' 

Ivan, [apart] ' Oh Heaven i thou dost inspire 

' me with the thought ! Yes, yes, it must be so —the 

' portrait Ischekin shewed me but a few days ago, 

' clearly in this obscurity I recognise the features/ 

[Kor.f speaks apart to the Czar. 



134 THE FATE OF IVAN: 

Czar. ' I long to speak to him, but my heart 
1 sinks.' 

Korf. l He appears to consider us very atten- 
' tively.' 

Ivan. ' Oh Thou All-gracious ! let me not plead 
- in vain.' 

Munich. ' Shall I address him, Sire ? ' 

Czar. l Wait— in a moment — the sight has over- 
1 powered me.' 

Ivan, [advances and kneels to the Czar] ' Oh 
' pitying Heaven ! let me not plead in vain ! My 
' prince, I know you — -you are the master here — you 
' can redress me, you can mitigate the hardships of 
' my fate, deign, then, my gracious sovereign, to 

* consider my complaint — fifteen long years I have 
' been here a prisoner — the light of day and the 

* untainted breath of nature alike are strangers to me ; 
' and yet Heaven knows that mortal man I never 
' yet offended, that my high birth alone is all my 
' crime.* 

Czar. ' Rise, dearest Ivan, I cannot see you 

* thus ; my soul is torn, — it is too much V 

[Raises and embraces him. 

Ivan. ' You weep ! and does my fate affect 
' you ? 'tis a long time since man has wept for me.' 

Czar. ' Oh, Leof, why did I not come sooner 
' here V 

Ivan. l I sigh not, Czar, for any outward pomp • 
' let me but breathe the common breath of nature ; 
' let me but see the glorious daylight, and all my 
' wishes with my self connected are exhausted.' 

[The Officers appear affected. 



A TRAGEDY. 135 

Czar. ' Have I, then, had the power to mitigate 
' his sufferings and have neglected it ? Oh ! 'tis a 

* crying sin of deep omission 'gainst me, that may 
1 condemn me in eternal records/ 

Vo/k. ' I can defend your majesty in that, you 
' never had the power till now/ 

Korf. ' No, no ! Elizabeth, your aunt, took care 
' of that/ 

Ivan. ' Oh happy hour V 

Czar. ' Good Ivan, be consoled : be witness, 
' gentlemen, here on my sword I swear to make the 
' prince henceforth my first concern. Oh ! how I 
' curse that proud abuse of power, that thus has 
' dared inhume a royal offspring whose right but — ' 

Ivan. l Forget the past, my gracious sovereign ; 
' in your high presence, in your pitying assurances, 
' already my afflictions are subdued/ 

Munich. ' It was not here, I think, the Prince's 
' infant years were past.' 

Czar. ' Have you, dear Ivan, any recollection of 

* what befel you in your earliest life V 

Ivan. ' Alas ! my honored liege, from the first 
' moment I became acquainted that I was made the 
e offence for which my parents were oppressed, I 
' have not ceased to mourn for them, who yet have 
' never ceased to mourn for me ; and till at Schus- 
' selberg they stationed me alone, from fortress here 

* to fortress there perpetually they led us, and ever 
1 were our guards the most inhuman of mankind !' 

Czar. Tell me the names of some of these if yet 
they have existence, I still will make them feel I am 



136 THE FATE OF IVAN I 

an Emperor, who will have justice tho' I mercy- 
love ! 

Ivan. ' Believe me, Sire, they have been long 
' forgotten/ 

Czar. ' And were they all alike? all equally un- 
' merciful V 

Ivan. ' Oh, no, no, no, no ! there was one, 
1 who, like a pitying angel, waited on us ; who 
1 would devote each leisure moment to instruct my 
' infancy,' — correct each vagrant and impatient 
thought, — bid me look up to yon bright throne for 
hope, for patience, consolation, rest, and glory ! 
Oh, dearly-cherished lessons ! 1 have remembered, 
have recounted, soothed myself, and tried to prac- 
tise every honored precept! oh God! could I but 
see that good man's face again ! 

Czar. ' And he V 

Ivan. ' Was soon displaced for his compassion.' 

Czar. ' But is his name forgotten too V 

Ivan. ' Ah, Sire ! if it were possible to look 
' into my heart, that honored name were found en- 
* graven on it. They called him Korf !' 

[Korf bursts into tears. The Czar presses 
his hand and weeps. 

Czar. ' Generous Korf ! see now how true it is, 
' a good deed rarely is forgotten. Oh ! 'tis too much.' 

Ivan. Oh, gracious Providence ! can it indeed 
be ? Do my senses deceive me ? can there be so 
much bliss for Ivan ? can it be possible ? [looking 
attentively at Korf] It is, it is ! my prayers are 
heard ! [Falls on his neck weeping. 



A TRAGEDY. 137 

Korf. ' My Prince ! my long lost Ivan !' 

Czar. ' Come with me, Leof, I must retire a 
' little, I'm not heart-proof to this/ 

[Exeunt Czar, Leof, and Volkonsky; 

Ivan. ' My friend ! my kind instructor ! my 
' second father ! 

Korf. ' Generous youth ; still to remember, 
' through fifteen years captivity, those trifling 
' services, that scarcely merited thy passing thanks.' 

Ivan. ' Ah ! when I never knew a friend except 
i in thee, strange it had been if, in my morning or 
' my even prayers, thy honored name were ever once 
■' omitted !' 

Korf. ' Shall so much promise still be here im- 
1 mured ? No, no, the heart of Peter is as noble as 
i 'tis guileless— thou hast affected him/ 

Ivan. ' Can I rely, then, on his future favour V 

Korf. l Yes, rest assured of that.' 

Ivan. ' I will believe it ; the being that could 
i me this delight, has not a common soul ; but yet 
1 I sometimes overhear a word that makes me doubt- 
1 ful of his better fate.' 

Korf. l From thence, and from your interview, 
' tho' short, indeed, what would you argue of the 
1 Emperor. 

Ivan. ' Alas, my friend ! 'tis not for me to say ; 
1 all in my mind must wear a tincture of the gloom 
' by which I live enveloped — but if my countrymen 
1 can tamely see me wronged, may we not equally 
' suppose that rebel vice, and mad ambition, they'll 
* not dare to oppose, when these may seek occasion 



138 THE FATE OF IVAN*. 

' to subdue an emperor, whose greatest fault seems 
■ but too much indulgence for his subjects.* 

Korf. ' It is enough — nor bolts nor bars can 'rest 
' the mind's enlargement;' and it would seem that each 
oppressive circumstance has equally respected thy 
outward form, such seeming vigour,* growth, and 
beauty, in a clime like this, old as I am, I look and 
wonder still. 

Ivan. Why thou hast taught me, Korf, that 
certain plants, deprived of yon bright beam, would 
lose their gentle tender existence ; man, of a nobler 
nature, bears a ray of that divinity within him ; 
hope, reason, and religion, lighten every gloom, the 
mind, supported hence, the inferior mortal frame is 
influenced in the mean, it lives, it combats with the 
evil, and, from long habit, reconciles the bane. 

Korf. Oh happiest moment of my life ! 1 see, I 
hear thee, all thy infant bloom and promise ripened 
into excellence. Come, let us join the Czar, and 
look about the Fort, perhaps he'll take thee with 
him to the capital. 

Ivan. Lead, lead the way, good Korf ! Boun- 
teous Heaven ! angels have visited me ! The day- 
light beams in Schusselberg. 

Korf. Thou shalt be happy, Ivan, and be free. 
[Exeunt together. 



* Prince Ivan was above six feet high, of an elegant figure, and 
possessed a fine open engaging countenance. 



A TRAGEDY. 139 

SCENE II. — An Apartment in the Palace of 
Peterhoff. Catharine on an elevated chair of 
State. Princess Dashkoff, the Hetman Razu- 

MOFFSKY, PANIN, OdART, PaSSICK, GlEBOFF, 

Orloff, the Archbishop of Novgorod, fyc. &;c. 

Cath. The Czar, my friends, is still at Schussel- 
berg, but for this paper, what think ye of it ? 

Raza. [rising] Why it confirms the keen sus- 
picions of the friends of Russia ; slight is the veil 
that would conceal the intentions of the Emperor • 
your majesty, in speed, to imprison, to exclude Paul 
Petrovitch the throne, in short, to place the im- 
perial crown on Ivan's brow — how best to baffle a 
plot so iniquitous, here are we met to take into 
request ; and first, I vote to seize the person of the 
Czar — till that pass be effected, all other efforts will 
be found abortive. [Sits. 

Pan. [rises] That measure I support, secure 
the Czar, let him be closely guarded till ye've ar- 
ranged your plans, and brought him to consent to 
terms more advantageous to the welfare of the 
nation than those he now proposes. 

Orloff. [rises] I urge the same necessity. 

Pan. These terms if he refuse, you must decide 
and act against him like a rebel subject. 

Nov. And think you Peter will consent to that? 
can he be made to compromise ? he who, perhaps ? 
this moment fixes on the spot in which our Empress 
is to be inhumed ; already dips in deadly poison 
the dagger that shall drink the blood of Paul ? 



140 THE TATE OF IVAN : 

Gods ! can my countrymen thus tamely meditate, and 
indolently let this second Herod stride on to the 
bloody execution ? why not, whilst the occasion 
offers of his absence, seize the time, resolve the in- 
stant, and immediate act ? 

Cath. 'Twill be too late when Peter is returned : 
what you neglect to do for him, he will not fail to 
do for you. 

Razu. Let, then, the Czar be instantly arrested, 
and for that purpose, let us send a trusty guard to 
meet him midway, as he here returns, so is his 
purpose foiled, and we have leisure to reflect a 
moment, to think what ought to follow. 

Pass. ' No, I say no ! let us dispatch him.' 
[Catharine appears to shudder] ' Is none here 
' bold enough ? I am the man, then, and I will do it 
1 in the face of all his court ; whilst Peter lives, Paul 
? Petrovitch is not. Think you this Emperor has 
' no friends in Russia 1 think of those acts which at 
' the first made him so popular ; think of those men 
' whom he has raised to power, whose interest 'tis 
1 to keep the Czar in place ; these can persuade the 
' multitude, and keep in pay and arms a powerful 
' host ; yet, independent of this selfish crew, Peter 
' all indolent, averse to business as he is, has 
' stronger partisans at home, and e'en abroad; so, 
' whilst he is allowed to live in prison, Russia will 
' still be drenched in civil wars — do what ye do 
' effectually — to spare the million sacrifice the man, 
1 a man than none I know can better now be spared.' 
[Catharine appears to be shocked. 

Pan. Away, away ! we want no butcherings in 



A TRAGEDY. 141 

Russia, when prisons fail to keep the peace, 'tis then 
too soon to do a deed like this. 

Pass, [apart] Aye, but I'll set about it, and 
the instant. 

Cath. ' Howe'er essential to the well-being of 
' our rising state, however much we sigh for home 
* tranquillity and foreign friendship, we do sincerely 
' feel, too zealous Passick, our pitying heart grief- 
' struck, that we must of necessity so far arrest the 
1 senseless progress of the Czar, as now to seek to 
1 make him prisoner ;' no, tho' 'tis certain that he 
would deprive his son of life, and would imprison 
me, yet, yet, forgive me, Russia, I cannot all at once 
forget I am a wife, that Peter is the father of Paul 
Petrovitch. Let our first deeds be signalized by 
mercy, so may the God of Justice prosper us ! 

[Weeps. 

Orloff. And so say I, my gracious Sovereign ; 
effect from hence your own escape, your noble 
friends will hasten to protect you, molest not Peter 
now, let him like you collect his troops, and let our 
courage and the sword decide it. 

Dash. Well said, my friend — in every varied 
commerce of society, I see no interest but in open 
dealing. 

Pan. I pray Heaven spare our countrymen in 
the event. 

Orloff. In thus determining our sovereign's fate, 
'tis my belief there will be less of bloodshed, than if 
we leave to dull delays, and foreign interference, 
our country's cause to settle. 



142 THE TATE OF IVAN! 

Odart. Twice is the battle won, 

That ends e'er rises twice on it the sun. 

Razu. I grant the probability of that our Ge- 
neral urges. 

Pan. And that determined, what's the next 
step expedient to be taken ? 

Odart. In the successful termination of the 
combat, to vest supreme authority in Catharine's 
hands', should it not be 1 [apart] At least 'tis that 
at which she aims. 

Nov. That's a pretension I'll most ardently 
support. 

Orloff. And I with my heart's blood defend. 

Pan. And I, I stedfastly oppose it ; let Catharine, 
as 'tis meet she should, be made the Regent of the 
Russias, and let the title Emperor devolve on Paul. 

Razu. Why that doth seem, indeed, most safe. 

Pan. ' By holy Paul, all other measures may 
' betray the cause they're meant to serve.' 

Razu. ' He rises most securely, who gains the 
' pinnacle of glory step by step.' 

Cath. l In arts mechanical, my Lord, that maxim 

• always must be good, but there's no intermediate 
*' path to royalty from whence I tower — the difference 
' of a name is all the question.' 

Pan. l Pardon me, madam, that I now perceive 
' your aims, and I can measure to a hair, your 

• power's extent, aye every tittle that same power can 
c work, and, seeing that, I know where you should 

• pause. You have repeated it a hundred times, to 
1 be the mother of the Emperor was the grand sum- 
' mit of your soul's ambition — does that seem now 



A TRAGEDY. 143 

' too little for your wishes ? You would remove your 
' son from empire, but say, what right have you to 
' rule alone ? Think you this ancient warlike nation 
' will acknowledge a simple Countess of Anhalt? 
' Think you our hardy sons will not be plotting in 
1 favour of great Peter's race, whilst one of them is 
' held in prison, and groans another in a lonesome 
> dungeon ? I am your friend, my country's friend, 
• so far an enemy to Peter, as I consider him unfit 
1 to wield the sceptre of a realm like this ; but his 
■ posterity, to whom it may please Heaven to grant 
' more skill for government, their interest in your 
' cause I'll still maintain. Give up, then, madam, 
' your extreme pretensions, think it no* common for- 
1 tune if ye evade the danger that presses on you ; 
1 convince the world you have an honest motive to 
' justify these violent proceedings ; prove to them 
' that your son, Paul Petrovitch, is the first object of 
' your high concern.' 

\_A pause ensues, and all appear surprised. 
Dash. * What says your Majesty to this ? ' 
Cath. ' I grant the arguments of our enlight- 
' ened friend seem full of truth, of powerful reason, 
' and persuasive justice, but yet permit me to ob- 
' serve, I know the Russians, know if they be but 
' governed 'tis little question with them the origin 
4 of those who rule — nor would I seek in this 
' respect to change them — administering with lenity 
1 what justice prompts, I would not leave them 
' e'en a shadow of pretext to murmur at the legisla- 
' tion. You talk of dread revolts, my Lord ; have 
' you forgotten history records, 'tis most in Re- 



144 THE FATE OF IVAN". 

< gencies rebellion fattens, and widest spreads the 
' pestilence of discontent, where lives no power 
' determinate V so is he twice a king, who, reigning 
but by proxy, governs well ; and doubly fortunate 
that state should deem itself, thus being circum- 
stanced, which, in the mean, escapes the storms of 
civil discord, and of foreign strife. Ask your own 
heart, my Lord, should we have needed to resort to 
this, had Peter guided with a steady hand the reins 
of government ? If to supremacy we tower our 
wishes, is't not the common welfare we've in view ? 
Is't not the more securely to preserve the rights of 
Paul ? too young himself, he long shall be in fitting 
judgment our realm to rule ; and in discernment, 
giving him to see in whom he should confide ; and 
who, my lord, so little likely to abuse the power 
transferred, as one so near allied to him as I am ? 
and finally, I seek to nobly recompence those friends 
who all like you assist me to defend him. 

Pan. To prove the gratitude you owe the states- 
man, 'twere wretched policy to make the state de- 
pendent. 

Razu. The intention may be good ; the mischief 
that may hence arise, is first to be considered. 

Nov. Even from ill-intentioned deeds heaven 
sometimes works effectual good, therefore we ought 
to hope what is well meant, well managed, well 
designed, should, in the execution, good produce. 

Pan. Yet lacking wisdom, or experience want- 
ing, we may do wrong, however pure the thought ; 
'tis to contest the wisdom of the measure, not to 
dispute the grace of the design, we now are met. 



A TRAGEDY. 14.3 

Razu. But to our judgment as we good discern, 
so we should work. 

Or/off. Else we forget our final interest 

Odart. To serve the prince of darkness, who, for 
some purpose that, we know not yet, must have 
his subjects as well as other mighty potentates. 

Dasli. Aye, but the grievance, Odart, there, 
work as you will, and serve him as you can, perpe- 
tual anguish is the sole reward. 

Nov. Such recompense we often meet from 
earthly rulers. 

Odart. For our best actions are susceptible of 
foul interpretation, and there's a vice in some men's 
minds, that never fails with nicest skill to blacken 
excellence, and that so subtilly, and so darkly, it 
would require something 'bove common sight to 
pierce the veil they make, and see a ray of virtue in 
the cloud ; heaven is not greatness in their murky 
thought ; Sol has no splendour in their jaundiced 
eye, and all creation's wonders are as naught before 
them. 

Pan. But if we fail to serve the cause of virtue, 
because, forsooth, here we can have no sacred credit 
for it, we make a very vain pretence to worth, we 
seek the applause of men, before our own respect, 
above approving heaven. 

Cath. My generous friends, I do intreat you 
once more think amongst yourselves, and let me be 
apprised of the result. I seek in all things to be 
guided by your counsels, but in this one distinction 
of a name, in which we see the dearer interest of our 
son concerned, for that maternal duty still will lead 



146 THE FATE OF IVAN : 

us to contend — fixed are our sentiments as this great 
empire in the spacious earth — according to our fore- 
sight and most impartial judgment, predetermined 
are our plans. If built in vanity, in pride, in mad 
ambition these, soon must the fragile fabric totter in 
decay; no maxim general currency can gain that 
has not sprung in truth ; no pile can stand, that 
wants a just foundation. This night at Petersburgh 
I hope to meet you — to-morrow, may it please 
heaven to decide our cause, and in the event spare 
our beloved countrymen. 

Pan. We are your Majesty's devoted subjects, 
I dare believe her happiness is what we all have 
most at heart — we'll meet again ere you reach 
Petersburgh. 

Pass, [apart] And Pll to work the instant. 
{Exeunt all but Catharine and Dashkoff ; 
as Orloff is going out, Catharine recalls 
him. 

Cath. [to Orloff] General, one word with 
you. 

Orloff. My pleasure to obey your Majesty, I 
seek some opportunity for proof. 

Cath. [to Dashkoff] In all haste, Princess, 
I'll despatch my business here, and meet you in the 
study. 

Dash. I'll wait your leisure, madam. 

[Exit Dashkoff. 

Cath. This night, good Orloff, as I have said, 
'tis my intent to try to effect my escape to Peters- 
burgh ; I well perceive there's not an hour to lose. 
Return this instant to the capital, there raise your 



A TKAC.r.DV, 14? 

faithful regiment; that done, ye shall be joined by 
others, whom Dashkoff, Novgorod, and the Hetman 
Razumoffsky have been disposing — take this key, 
the admittance into the summer house that skirts the 
garden, at the foot of which the Neva runs — in this 
same house, foreseeing all, some nights past I've 
reposed ; hither, soon as the occasion shall be ripe, 
(soon as you shall proclaim me Empress of the 
Russias) send, with a brief intelligence, some trusty 
persons; with them I will return, and, when ex- 
pedient, will appear amongst you. 

Or/off. Your Majesty needs only courage ; I will 
be prompt, be secret, and be bold ; when daring en- 
terprise has fixed her flight, the sooner that she 
spreads her eagle wing the better. 

Cath. 'Tis on thy courage most I build my 
hopes. 

Orloff. Your Majesty shall speedily be served 
— rely on my good fortune. [Exit Orloff. 

Cath. Now for the Princess ! 

[Exit Catharine- 

SCENE III.— Study at the Palace of Peterhoff— 
Princess Dashkoff, a book in her hand. 

Enter Catharine. 

Cath. Now, Dashkoff, tell me, friend, what 
thinkest thou of this Panim ? 

Dash. So bold, I must confess, I did not think 
to find him, yet I was pleased with his sincerity. 
l 2 



148 THE FATE OF IVAN: 

Cath. True ; but the dearer interest which in_ 
spired him 

Dash. There seemed much justice in his argu- 
ment. 

Cath. First hear what I've to urge : to place 
Paul Petrovitch upon the throne, I know he wishes ; 
but mark me, to occupy himself the second place, 
or rather first except in nomination, is the next step 
he languishes to take ; yes, he would govern in the 
name of Paul. 

Dash. Ah, ah ! I failed to see that ; and con- 
strued all his warmth pure patriotic zeal. 

Cath. And sooner than I that would suffer, I'd 
let the sluggard Peter drone upon the royal couch, 
imprison me, and Petrovitch abandon. It is not 
that I do not think the Count a man of passing 
honesty ; yes, yes, I grant him that, whilst I per- 
ceive his mind of that same stamp, that having been 
unused to sovereign power, the "circumstantial 
difference, the local cause, would so far change the 
creature, that perched upon the royal pinnacle, I see 
him giddy with the mighty height, and tempted to 
betray his own salvation, or yet worse, the happiness 
of Russia. Oh ! 'tis a soul, than none less fitted 
for supremacy, and yet withal an instrument, with 
which supremacy can ne'er dispense ; kept as a sub- 
ject, he, like the pendent arm, the body serving, is 
grace, is use, is vigor ! is necessity ! a noble pillar of 
the state, that ornaments the prouder weight it 
bears. 

Dash. Faithful to every trust in which engaged, 



A TRAGEDY. J 49 

there is not ought could bribe him to forsake the in- 
terest of his master. 

Cath. Nor do I mean to say, that prompted by a 
thirst of sway, or by ungovernable ambition led, 
the Count is aiming to be first, amongst us ; no, 'tis 
a certain prepossession of his superior skill for go- 
vernment which leads him on ; he is for ever form- 
ing plans, grand innovations, and extraneous systems, 
and long with Peter has essayed in vain to carry into 
effect his novel projects, but the weak monarch's in- 
dolence still foiled him, so now, with ardent hope, 
he seeks the grand accomplishment with Paul. 

Dash. That nice discrimination was bestowed for 
highest purposes. 

Cath. And I, whilst I abet his wiser views, must 
check, for Russia's sake, his speculative flights ; for 
infant states, and barbarous realms, kingdoms like 
this, bear not with sudden changes in their customs, 
we must proceed with cool discretion, sturdy is 
ignorance in every clime ; 'tis only where refine- 
ment has enlarged, and shed around intelligence her 
light, that long-established forms may be invaded, 
even when most assuredly for the general benefit. 

Dash. Seen, then, the present disposition of the 
Count, what must be done to make him think as we 
do, in short, to render him the passive subject ? 

Cath. To gain that pass, my friend, would be 
the very summit of our policy. 

Dash. Shall I attempt, then, his conversion ? 

Cath. But how ? 

Dash. The motive you're assured 

Cath. Is purest friendship. 



150 THE FATE OF IVAN! 

Dash. You know how much the Count esteems 
me ; and though I am, compared with him in years, 
a very infant, yet his respect for my opinion 
amounts almost to veneration. 

Cath. 'Tis true ; and I have heard, indeed, for 
eyes it boots a woman nought, so she can talk ; and 
praise, is never more acceptable than when address'd 
to one like Panim, somewhat advanced in years, by 
youth and beauty ; but yet I doubt, my friend, the 
very virtue of your character, that reputation you 
enjoy so singular withal, will raise a barrier to that 
project. 

Dash. Your Majesty mistakes the matter totally, 
'tis on that very character that I presume ; and trust 
me, madam, where vice in woman can make one honest 
votary, in wiser men, virtue shall form the thousand ! 

Cath. But yet I cannot understand what you 
propose. 

Dash. Simply, to speak the truth as I behold it ; 
if that effect our purpose, good are the means em- 
ployed, and good may be the end attained ; but if 
this fail, other adoption must be had, or failure be 
endured ; your Majesty may know, that to the truth 
I'd sacrifice my life. 

Cath, Dear Princess, brightest jewel of my 
crown, go on and prosper. I see without thee 
Catharine were not Catharine. 

Dash. In the mean time, take care, your Majesty, 
that brutal Passick nothing shall attempt to make 
your name contemptible for ever — let not the example 
of your husband prompt you to any measure you 
would blush to see recorded. 



A TIIAGKDV. 151 

Catli. Trust me for that, my friend, though well 
'tis known the Czar's design with us is nothing less 
than murder, yet, if on our side he be made a 
prisoner, we will a just example set, how kings so 
circumstanced should be respected. 

Dash. That thought is worthy Catharine. I 
will proceed the instant — already I've secured the 
regiment of Preobajensky, they wait my instant 
warning. [Exit Dashkoff. 

CatJi. And now for action. When daring enter- 
prise has fixed her flight, the sooner that she spreads 
her eagle wing the better — so says the valiant OrlofT! 
— so thinks determined Catharine ! 

[Exit Catharine. 



END OF ACT II. 



152 THE FATE OF IVAN : 

ACT III. 

SCENE I.— An Apartment at Peterhoff. 

Enter the Czar, Munich, Korf, Leof, Stern- 
berg ; Is ma el meeting them. 

Ism. Your Majesty is welcome back to Peter- 
hoff, most opportunely is he now arrived ; the 
Empress has disappeared, and whither gone we 
know not. 

Omnes. Gone ! gone ! 

Czar. The Empress gone ! how, how has she 
escaped ? 

Ism. ' Your Majesty well knows, that on ac- 
' count of the great festival here to be celebrated of 
' Peter and of Paul, the Empress has, for some 
• nights past, slept in the summer house, and thence 
1 she has effected her escape ; and it is evident, the 
' means concerted during your absence at Schussel- 
c berg, for here, not many hours ago, was held a 
' formidable council, present at which, I learnt for 
' satisfaction of your Majesty, was Panin, Razu- 
' moffsky, Odart, Novgorod, Passick, Gleboff, and 
' many others.' 

Czar. Which render our case dangerous enough 
— my Lords, what's to be done in this predicament? 

Stern. I know well what ought to have been 
done some weeks ago — your Majesty was ever too 
confiding. 






A TRAGEDY. 153 

Enter a Messenger, disguised as a Peasant, with a 
paper, which he gives to the Czak. 

Messenger. I am charged, in all haste, to give 
this to your Majesty, it comes from faithful Bressen. 

[Exit Messenger. 

Czar. From faithful Bressen ! 'tis well said, 
let's hear what new disasters, [reads'] ' " Your 
' Majesty must haste to arm — all Petersburgh is in 
' commotion, the troops are fighting 'gainst the 
' people, nothing but cries are heard of " Long live 
1 Catharine" — haste, Sire, to march against the 
' rebels ; you still have many friends in Petersburgh ; 
'I fly to exert myself in your defence ; I will be 
' ready to meet you with all the force I can collect. 

'Signed, BRESSEN.' » 
What an unexpected stroke is this ? what's your 
advice, my friends, what's to be done 1 

Munich. There is but one thing that a king 
should do in such a case — call up the guards that 
now surround you, march on to Cronstadt, secure 
that port, and you are safe, and may then go to 
Petersburgh; I will this instant animate the troops; 
we need but shew ourselves, the day is ours ! 

Stern. I long to shew the rebels what a few 
loyal subjects can effect. 

Czar. Will it be right to expose my person to 
the foe ? 

Munich. It is impossible that Catharine can 
have won already to her cause all Petersburgh, she 
who has no just pretension to the crown — away, 



154 THE TATE OF IVAN: 

Sire, with all idle fancies ; cowards would only 
hesitate in such a case. 

Czar. Let us prepare, at least, my friends — in 
the mean time I will reflect upon it. 

Korf. But rest, your Majesty, at PeterhofF, if 
more secure you think it ; only remember, Sire, your 
faithful subjects who have your interest most sincere 
at heart, will go without you. 

Czar. Alas ! poor Ivan ! 

Leof. [apart] Alas ! poor Peter ! 

Czar. Korf, you must tell him our misfortune. 

Korf. No doubt, your Majesty, he will proceed 
with us. 

Enter hastily Countess Vorontzoff. 

Countess. My Lord, what means this clamour 
'bout the palace ? All is not well at Petersburgh, I 
fear. 

Czar. AH is not well at Peterhoff, I'm sure. 

Stem. The fact is, Madam, Catharine has escaped, 
and alPs in arms. 

Countess. Escaped ! Distraction ! Then are we 
lost, indeed. 

Czar. Did I not tell you 'twas a woman capable 
of any thing? "Long live the Empress Catherine" is 
all the cry. 

Countess. Ah, woe is me ! My mortal foe the 
wicked Dashkoff is concerned in this. What has 
your Majesty resolved to do ? 

Czar. Immediately to summon all the guards, to 
march to Cronstadt, secure that pass, then on to 
Petersburgh. 



A TRAGEDY. 155 

Countess. What, with a hundred men, presume to 
meet perhaps a hundred thousand ? Oh what unheard 
of madness this, to expose your sacred person to a 
tribe of ruffians — who can have counselled this ? 

Omnes. We, we, madam, in our reverence for 
the Czar. 

Countess, Thou hast, then, no friend left, un- 
happy Peter ! 

Munich. See now, my friends, where women 
are concerned, what good can be effected ? 

Korf. [apart] Say, too, where women of a 
certain cast have sway, will Heaven befriend our 
steps ? 

Munich. How many kings have thus been over- 
thrown ! 

Czar. Do not believe, my friends, that I can be 
so easily persuaded. 

Countess. Oh, wretched that I am ! 

Munich. Fond madam, deign but to consider 
the danger that awaits his Majesty in staying here, 
where, in a few short hours, the enemy may reach 
him — he has no friends to join him here, no succours 
to depend upon. 

Countess. At all events, we are undone, then. 

Korf. Fie on't, let not your Majesty be thus be- 
trayed by female weakness. How many instances his- 
tory records of kingdoms that have thus been lost ; of 
kings untimely ruined, that else had lived a blessing 
to their country. 

Munich. Come, then, my honored Liege, let 
us proceed ; no sword shall reach your heart, till 
thro' my body it has pierced. What can I say 



156 THE FATE OF IVAN : 

Leof. Your vessel ready lies at anchor. 

Stem. Sire, if you let the women now prevail, 
you are lost for ever. 

Czar. Good friends, your faithful services, your 
long experience, demand my gratitude and my 
obedience ; I yield implicitly to your advice. 

Munich. Then we will move the instant. 

Czar. Oh, faithless fortune, 'tis thy design, I 
half foresee, to jilt me— happy the man who never 
wore a crown ! 

Countess. And happy she who never loved a 
king. 

Omnes. To arms ! to arms ! our country and our 
king ? [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— The front of the Imperial Palace of 
Petersburgh — Catharine's arrival— she ascends 
a balcony in the front of the Palace, accompanied 
by Princess Dashkoff. Troops of Soldiers 
crowd in to welcome her with loud hurras. 

Enter Orloff, Gleboff, Passick, Novgorod, 
and Prince Potemki^. 

Orloff. Your Majesty has been expected with 
impatience two hours, your faithful troops have been 
in arms. 

Cath. My generous countrymen ! your unhappy 
Empress flies to you to 'scape destruction; flies 
from the palace of the Emperor ! a deadly plot has 
been concerted 'gainst us ; this night it was intended 
to murder me and Petrovitch together. Oh ! do I 
live to tell it, the husband and the father are the 



A TRAGEDY. 157 

instigators. To you, brave Russians, I submit my 
cause, to you I come for shelter and protection ; to 
you I dare confide myself, my darling child : ye will 
not, valiant countrymen, forsake the rightful heir of 
Russia ; ye will not, in an hour like this, the mother 
of your future Emperor abandon ? 

Omnes. No, no, we swear to die in your defence f 
Or /off. Hurra ! long live the Empress Catharine » 
Omnes. Long live the Empress Catharine ! 

Enter Razumoffsky with more troops, and a 
chaplain bearing a crucifix, on which the Soldiers 
take the oath of allegiance. 

Omnes. We swear to die in your defence. Long 
live the Empress ! 

Enter hastily Panin, with the young Paul 
Petrovitch in his arms. 

Pan. Behold, my countrymen, your future Em- 
peror ! this moment have I snatched him from a 
cruel death ; scarce had I entered his apartment, 
when a ruffian band, armed for the purpose of de- 
struction, rushed in upon us— my valiant troops 
quickly dispersed them ; fortune is on our side, the 
day is ours, my friends ! 

Omnes. Long live Paul Petrovitch ! 

Pan. Will ye not on, my countrymen, to battle, 
to save the heir of Russia ; will ye not, for his sake, 
guard, fight for, and defend the mother's sacred 



158 THE FATE OF IVAN: 

Omnes. To conquer or to die ! 
Cath. Haste, let us meet our foes; let's see what 
justice in our cause, what heaven, our courage, 
conduct, and our troops can do for us. In this our 
deed of deep necessity, we seek no power unlimited, 
no arbitrary sway for the brave sons of Russia ; 'tis 
we fight, and when we fail their interest to consult, 
their happiness to prize, then may they hurl us head- 
long from that throne where now they seek to fix 
us ; — yes, my beloved people ! as I shall make your 
dear prosperity my first concern, so may the All- 
righteous lead us on to conquest or destruction ! 
Omnes. Hurra ! to arms ! to arms ! 

[Catharine and Princess Dashkoff descend 

from the balcony, and mount a light carriage. 

Prince Potemkin, perceiving Catharine 

has no plume on her head, takes his own from 

his cap, and presents it to her. 

Pot. ' Permit the most devoted of her Majesty's 

' liege subjects, to make his sovereign more con- 

' spicuous.' 

Cath. Thanks to your courtesy, good Ensign, 
one day we must be more acquainted. 

[CATHARiNE^res the plume on her head. 
Omnes. Hurrah ! long live the Empress Catha- 
rine—to arms ! to arms ! 

[Catharine and Princess Dashkoff ride 
through the ranks — loud hurras —the drums 
beat, the band plays, shouts of " long live 
Catharine!" the procession moves out — the 
scene changes, and the army is seen at a 
distance. 






A TRAGEDY. 159 

SCENE III.— A Plain-General Munich— Baron 

Korf, Count Leof, Ivan — surrounded by the 

Holstein troops. 

Munich. Brave Holsteiners ! you know me, 
know that I have served the state of Russia for 
thirty years. 

1st Sol. And how rewarded ? 

Munich. We will not talk of that, our country 
is the question. Will you rely upon me, soldiers ? 

Omnes. For ever and for ever ! 

Munich. Behold the good descendant of the 
immortal Peter, now in the last extremity, his faith- 
ful subjects all are made acquainted what are the 
bold designs of his ambitious wife, the throne to 
exclude him, to immure him in a loathsome dun- 
geon ; but my heart sinks within me ; — you cannot 
doubt the sad conclusion of the tragedy — and shall 
we tamely rest and suffer this ? Shall we thus shew 
our gratitude to ancestors to whom we owe so much ? 
We are six hundred men ; but if our souls are fitted 
for the occasion, we are six thousand strong ; 
courage will serve us in the place of numbers ; and 
in our actions we will prove our might— let's haste 
to meet them, friends, our standard shall be joined 
at every turn— and " long live Peter " we shall hear 
again. 

Omnes. Hurrah ! Long live Peter ! Long live 
our virtuous Emperor ! Hurrah ! 

Ivan. Pray Heaven our efforts be successful. 

Korf. Pray Heaven we come to battle. 

Omnes. To arms ! to arms ! Long live Peter ! 
Long live the Emperor ! 



160 



THE FATE OF IVAN : 



Enter Baron Sternberg, a paper in his hand. 

Stem. Alas ! that cry is out of tune, my friends — 
this moment I have left the Fortress — Peter is gone 
— Ismael has persuaded him to put himself in 
Catharine's power. [The soldiers lower arms, and a 
groan e?isues.] Here is a written message to inform 
us, he hopes to get safe conduct into Holstein, and 
there reward us. 

Ivan. Oh fate perverse ! Is there no hope for 
him ? Can we not follow, Korf? 

Korf. Alas, my king ! 

Soldiers. Speak, General — shew us the way. 



Enter a Messenger, he approaches Mun: 



CH. 



Mes. It grieves me, General, to be the herald of 
bad tidings ; but ye are Peter's friends, and may, 
perhaps, yet rescue him ; a few miles from this place 
an armed force attacked the carriage of the Czar, 
and turning from the road of Peterhoff, cried out, "to 
Ropseha lead him, lead him to prison! to Ropseha, 
friends ! long live the Empress ! " 

Korf. S'death t'was a concerted plan — so soon 
betrayed ! 

Munich. Oh ! had I but the traitor Ismael in 
my power. 

Ivan. Let us pursue him, friends, what should 
we fear ? 

Korf. Yes, let us pursue ; good Munich, we are 
all prepared ; let us confound the traitor Ismael if 
possible, let us united make one effort more to rescue 
him from prison, then if we have him 'mongst us, 



A TRAGEDY. l6l 

we may, at least, oblige the dame to make conditions 
suiting to our Emperor. 

Ivan. Ah ! let us haste, the strongest guard 
most like surrounds herself. 
Omnes. Aye, let us haste. 

Korf. For me, I swear to perish in the field, 
e'er I will turn my back upon the foe. 

Omnes. So we all swear ! to arms ! to arms ! 
[The drums beat, the trumpet sounds, the band 
plays, the soldiers march — they are heard for 
some time t and the march is seen at a distance. 

SCENE IV '.—An Apartment at Ropseha— the Czar 
stretched on a couch asleep. 

Enter Count Panin — he contemplates the Czar 
a moment in silence. 

Pan. Poor soul ! he sleeps : 'tis more, I much 
suspect, than Catharine can. Oh pomp of pride 
and vanity, how little wert thou made for this 
estate! What man — what foe would not stop here to 
apostrophize ? Behold me sent to tamper with an 
Emperor ; yes, it may be most grossly to deceive 
him : an Emperor, than whom two days ago in out- 
ward circumstance, none was more great — and now 
he droops without a friend to raise him. 

Czar, [asleep'] The tide will rise, and rise, and 
fall again. 

Pan. Poor man ! 'twill never rise again for 
thee! 

Czar, [rising] Who calls ? 

M 



162 THE FATE OF IVAN : 

Pan. I am sent from Catharine. 

Czar. And to Peter — what wills your mistress ? 

Pan. Catharine requests me to inform you, Sire, 
she will not fail to meet you here, the first occasion 
that shall offer. 

Czar. Oh ! she grows too kind, too con- 
descending. 

Pan. She adds, unwilling still to doubt your 
Majesty, she is yet fearful you are not sincere in 
your professions of acquiescence to her proposi- 
tions. 

Czar. Away, away ! can she suspect a man in 
prison, unarmed, and unattended by a friend ? 

Pan. Your Majesty has many friends in Russia. 

Czar. Did I not set off from Oranembaum with- 
out a guard ? Have I not every fortress dismantled, 
in proof I would not carry arms against my wife ? 
Now, Panin, friend, or foe, what better testimony 
could I give, that my first wish is only for retire- 
ment ? 

Pan. Sire, I believe 'tis not yourself so much 
the Empress suspects, as those whom well she 
knows are adverse to her; and as a proof of her sin- 
cerity, that with those foes you never will commu- 
nicate, so to preserve the order of the realm, and to 
convince her, beyond all doubt, of your intentions, 
she humbly asks your Majesty to sign this paper. 

[Shewing a paper. 

Czar. What is this paper, then ? 

Pan. Observe, Sire, I know not if it is, or if it is 
not, Catharine's intention to make it public : here am 
I sent charged to present it to you, to say for why 



A TRAGEDY. 



163 



she makes this same request, unknowing I repeat, if 
what the Empress asserts, be false or true. 

Czar. Is the request so very villainous, my Lord, 
that thus you find it requisite to preface ? 

Pan. It makes your Majesty confess himself 
unfit to reign — in fact, unfit for anything, and, there- 
fore, seems too gross e'er to gain credit as your own 
suggestion, and thence, I argue, Catharine is too 
politic to publish it. 

Czar. That Heaven may have appointed, that 
this woman shall be supreme in Russia, I do not 
doubt ; and that she is more fitted than myself to 
tread the thorny path of government, I question not : 
but when two roads are open to the goal, if from 
pure wantonness of spirit, she must pursue the evil 
way, think you that Heaven will fail to judge her 
for the choice ? 

Pan. It is to be inferred, Sire. 

Czar. Come, let us hear this thing, I do com- 
mand you ! read it fully, without abridgement, or 
any modest softening of what looks blackest in 
your eye. 

Pan. Sire, you shall have it, as I have it. 

Czar. That is our pleasure. 

Pan. [reads] ' During the short space of my 
' absolute reign over the empire of Russia, I became 
' sensible that I was not able to support so great a 
1 burden, and that my abilities were not equal to the 
' task of governing so great an empire, either as a 
' Sovereign, or in any other capacity. I also fore- 
\ saw the great trouble which must thence have 
1 arisen, and have been followed with the total ruin 
M 2 



164 THE FATE OF IVAN *. 

' of the empire, and my own eternal disgrace; 
' after seriously reflecting thereon, I declare, without 
' constraint, and in the most solemn manner, to the 
1 Russian empire, and to the whole universe, that I 
' for ever renounce the government of the said 
1 empire, never desiring hereafter to reign therein, 
' either as an absolute Sovereign, or in any other 
c form of government.' 

' Signed by my hand, the 29th June, 1762.' 

Czar. Ha, ha! . Go tell your mistress,, if she 
will add to that, that I was born with asses ears, 
with every outward sign of inward vice, that 
thus being born, so on I grew defective, nought 
differing from the stupid mule, but in the two-legged 
gait; and being taught, after much tedious toil, and 
many years of painful tutoring, I was unfit to wear 
a crown, that now, being so convinced, I humbly do 
submit myself to those superior creatures, whom 
Heaven has wisely fitted to be lords o'er all inferior 
kind ; tell her, if this will give me conduct into 
Holstein, I'll kneel and thank her for the grace so 
purchased, subjoining with all eagerness my name. 

Pan. Sire, I protest most honestly, I cannot an- 
swer for the Empress's intentions, yet 

Czar. Oft when the question has arisen of plots, 
of treasons, and of secret councils, I have dis- 
missed the busy praters of them with this remark, 
I do all good to every one that lies within the com- 
pass of my power — therefore I never fear that any 
one will seek to injure me : mistaken man! adversity 
has shewn me there is a principle in human nature 
which little tallies with this same presumption. 



A TRAGEDY. l65 

They love to oppress the inoffensive man, who, dig- 
nified in office, lets them not feel the weight of his 
importance, but as an equal lives amongst them, in- 
dulgent to their foibles, forgetting their misdeeds, 
and scorning to revenge when most they wrong him : 
whilst oft, oh ! how perversely strange, they'll bend 
in fearful reverence to him, who o'er them waves the 
rod of sterner justice, and oppression. Princes ! 
trust not to your virtues altogether for protection 
and respect ; mine are not great, but they, and not 
my vices, have betrayed me ! 

Pan. Sire, I regret, but 

Czar. There is in some base minds a vice which 
more than others I detest ; it is that dirty spirit of 
revenge, which, when a man has slain his enemy, 
makes him sit coolly down to mangle his dead body ! 
— such is this paper act. 

Pan. To sign or not to sign, rests with your 
Majesty alone. I seek not to persuade you, Sire, 
'tis what, so circumstanced, I would not do. 

Czar. Ha, ha, ha ! — but to procure a passport 
into Holstein — let's try, let's see where this deep 
farce will end. Follow me, Sir ; here is no instru- 
ment wherewith to finish the affair. 

[Exit Czar, followed by Pan in. 



166 THE FATE OF IVAN: 



SCENE V.— The inside of the Palace; Catha- 
rine seated in a royal chair. The council assem- 
bled. Princess Dashkoff, Odart, Panin, 
Razumoffsky, Novgorod, Passick, Gle- 
roff, potemkin, orloff, &fc. 8$c. catharine 
holds some papers. 

Cath. As herein stated, to these our erring- 
subjects let it be speedily proclaimed — to every 
rebel to our honest cause, to each deluded person 
who has fought against us — we pitying grant to 
these permission to retire from Petersburgh, or to 
enlist themselves beneath our sheltering banners, as 
many, we presume, will wisely do ; for seeing, all 
must see, not our own valour, or our skill hath won 
the day, these but for farther grace had inefficient 
proved ; the god of armies went out with us, and 
we returned victorious ! He blessed the great oc- 
casion, and spared the blood of our beloved 
countrymen ; never was change so happily effected, 
we have not lost one soldier in a hundred — of our 
prosperity this augurs well — for Russia's good let 
us hope every thing in future ! These papers to 
your care, good Orloff. [Orloff takes the papers. 

Enter hastily Ism a el. 

Ism. Good news, your Majesty, the scattered 
remnants of the Holstein troops are taken, and 
hither I have brought the General Munich, guarded • 
he waits within the Palace, for I presumed your 



A TRAGEDY. 167 

Majesty might like to see him ; he was the foremost 
in the attempt to free the Emperor at Ropseha. 

Cath. 'Tis well done, let him be conducted to 
our presence. [E.vit Ismael. 

Dash. Doubtless it is your Majesty's intention 
to include the veteran in your clemency 1 

Cath. The virtue of necessity had never better 
food for policy. 

Re-enter Ismael, Field Marshal Munich, and 
Guards. 

Cath. Think not, great General, I have hither 
called you meanly to triumph o'er a fallen foe — no 
Sir, 'tis publickly to own we bear no keen resent- 
ment in our royal bosom ; men who have served 
their country, as Munich oft has done, should never 
be forgotten by her friends. Field Marshal, you 
are free ! 

Munich. For who shall dare to make me other- 
wise ? Ho, ho, ho ! 

Cath. This is too much. 

Pan. The General speaks, your Majesty, in ag- 
gravation of disappointment. 

Munich. He speaks as every honest man should 
speak, who feels his own importance — who feels 
himself surrounded by a troop who want that nice 
integrity he makes his proudest boast ! 

Pass. But why should all this blustering be 
made ? Peter has formally resigned. 

Munich. Catharine has published so, what good 
man will believe it ? 



168 



THE FATE OF IVAN *. 



Ism. Permit, your Majesty, we lead this mis- 
creant to prison 1 

Munich. Traitor ! whilst yet I have an arm, 
take care thou do not come within its reach, else it 
may chance I shall be tempted to revenge on thy 
base head the imprisonment of Peter. 

Nov. This is no place, at least, for your disputes. 

Cath. General, we condescend again to tell you 
you are free — or serve your country, or retire, as fits 
your inclination; it is our royal pleasure to dispense 
with your attendance here ! 

Munich. To serve my country! why yes, 'tis 
still my country ; I may still try to serve her ; but 
when I draw my sword in her defence, how hard 
will be the task to bury in forgetfulness their vices 
who command it. 

[Exit Munich and Guards. 

Cath. All this I must confess is more than I ex- 
pected. 

Pan. Oh ! as for him, your Majesty has nothing 
more to fear. 

Odart. Who vents his indignation in resentful 
speech, seldom preserves his passion for malignant 
action. 

Nov. Your Majesty must now and then expect 
these same rebuffs, — must take them patiently. 

Cath. Oh ! most assuredly, they are the most 
unfit to reign o'er others, who have not so far learnt 
to rule themselves. 

Pan. The bold and honest lion is an open foe, 
a foe we meet on equal chances, and such a foe is 
Munich. 



A TRAGEDY. 16'9 



Enter a Messenger. 

Messenger. The Baron Korf, your Majesty, a 
prisoner, and with him led the young prince Ivan. 

Cat/i. Ivan with Korf ? [Rising with surprise. 

O nines. Ivan ? [All rising. 

Cath. Did I hear right ? how's this ? can I 
believe my senses ? 

Messenger. It is most true, your Majesty ; the 
Czar brought him from Schusselberg, and now he 
wears a soldier's uniform ; and, if your Majesty will 
deign to see him, I do believe she'll think all Russia 
cannot boast an equal youth. 

Dash. I do entreat, your Majesty, we see the 
Prince. [Earnestly. 

Cath. But what may be your motive, friend ? 

Dash. Pure female curiosity — it is a sight I never 
yet have seen. 

Cath. I own I have the wish to see him, too, but 
yet 

Razu. Your Majesty, perhaps, anticipates a 
second Munich. 

Cath. No, good Razumoffsky, a twenty years 
captivity would tame the ardour of the fiercest 
spirit — [to the Messenger] — conduct the prisoners to 
our presence. 

Nov. Poor youth, to have been released, and 
then so soon a prisoner made again. 

Dash. My heart bleeds for him. 

Pass. I long to see how he will bear the in- 
terview. 



170 THE FATE OF IVAN: 

Enter Baron Korf, Ivan, and Guards. Ivan looks 
around him with composure. 

[The Princess Dashkoff rises on their enter- 
ing. Orloff and Pantn also rise. 

Korf. [to Ivan] I pray you, Prince, be calm. 

Cath. Prince, you are here an unexpected 
person. 

Ivan. Nought could to me, your Majesty, be 
more unlooked for. How many strange vicissitudes 
in this life ! 

Dash. Alas, indeed ! or had not Ivan now been 
here — poor Prince ! 

[Ivan looks at the royal chair on which Catha- 
rine is seated. 

Korf. Thanks to your pity. 

[To Princess Dashkoff. 

Dash. What simple grace ! what unaffected 
dignity ! [To Catharine. 

Ivan, [still looking calmly at the regal chair] Oh 
fatal state of greatness ! woe that I was born with just 
pretensions to thee ! Oh that my mother had never 
set upon my brow the sparkling diadem, that in the 
moment when the States proclaimed me Emperor, 
she had fled with me to some distant country, where 
we unknown had lived in obscure liberty, then had I 
made the comfort of her age, and in her smiles, 
had been in happiness a king. Oh ! hapless, honored 
father, thou, I know, dost nourish in thy bosom still 
a thousand hopes for Ivan ; paternal love will make 
the wisest vain, and renders many of the best am- 



A TRAGEDY. 171 

bitious ; yes, at this moment I can read thy soul, 
e'en now, thou flatterest thyself in secret — one day, 
thou sayest, or why does he yet live — one day my 
son shall have again his right, and our long-suffer- 
ings shall be all avenged ! Oh pitying Heaven ! 
let but my parent dream of the destruction that 
awaits me, let him believe what he shall see in sleep, 
so may he prepare himself to bear the evil, so may 
he not, in the impatience of calamity, grow impious 
in his grief, and rise to murmur 'gainst All-righteous 
Providence ! [Princess Dashkoff weeps. 

Cath. Dismiss your fears, my Prince, and be 
assured it is not our design to play the Empress 
Elizabeth at Schusselberg. 

Ivan. Fears I have none, your Majesty, for 
minds unused to hope, are never swayed by sickly 
apprehensions ; but simple foresight is the offspring 
of reflection, and he who is debarred the liberty of 
action, finds, it is plain, more leisure to exert the 
privilege of thought. 

Cath. Young man, you reason clearly, plainly, 
simply; we will appoint you masters, that you may 
study and improve those talents with which high 
Heaven has gifted you. 

Ivan. I thank your Majesty. 

Pass. I should be glad to know why you have 
fought against the Empress ? 

Ivan. You mistake, Sir; I fought not 'gainst the 
Empress, but for the Czar. That coward — [pointing 
to Ismael] — who can still, it seems, look honest 
men unblushing in the face, pretended to the 
Emperor, he would conduct him to your Majesty, 



172 THE FATE OF IVAN: 

who was most anxious to make terms of peace, but 
he (the traitor) was resolved, it seems, to disappoint 
your Majesty's good wishes ; and with a treacherous 
band, who laid in ambush for the occasion, the Czar, 
instead of meeting with your Majesty, was led a 
prisoner to Ropseha, we fled to his deliverance — 
and say, your Majesty, was it not right ? 

Cath. Young man, we will not question that ; at 
present cares of magnitude engross our thought. 

Ivan. Ah ! can it be on my account he is de- 
tained ? Was it his pity for the prisoner hastened 
his destruction? Oh! lead me to the gloom of 
Schusselberg again, but oh ! release, preserve my 
gracious Sovereign ! His heart, all kindness, and 
all charity, may err, indeed, yet cannot grossly sin. 
Did he not every fortress dismantle, to prove he 
would not carry arms against a wife ? Oh ! by that 
dear example — [kneeling to Catharine] — by the 
sacred names of husband and of father, let me not 
plead in vain ! by every tie of truth and honor 
kings should make their proudest boast, by yon un- 
fading and eternal crown that waits the good and 
merciful, let not your evil councillors prevail, let my 
life only be the forfeit ; perhaps the peace of Russia, 
your security, may ask that sacrifice ; but nobly dare 
dismiss each selfish fear, your husband in the ques- 
tion — do not! oh do not give consent to murder 
him. [Ivan rises, the courtiers look astonished. 

Dash. Amen ! 

Cath. How's this ? what strange delusion seizes 
on you, youth? I trust, at least, my generous 
people will respect my feelings, and not betray me 



A TRAGEDY. 1 73 

in a cause that sits so near my heart — who dares to 
raise his hand 'gainst Peter's life is Catharine's 
deadliest foe — secure to meet all that resentment, 
injured honor, royal hate combined, can meditate 
against him — enough of this. Count Panin, you I 
charge with the safe conduct of Prince Ivan .hence ; 
to your abode let him be led ; and there appoint a 
trusty guard, that no one may attempt to annoy him 
— the times are critical, so act with all your wont 
discretion, waiting our farther orders, and if the 
Baron Korf do feel disposed, he has permission to 
attend him thither. 

Ivan, [embracing Korf] Generous Korf ! 

Korf. I do sincerely thank your Majesty ! 

Ivan. The gloom of Schusselberg in thy society 
were more than courts and palaces without thee. 

Korf. Ah ! youth of too great promise here to 
blossom long. 

Ivan, [to Panin] Let us haste, my Lord, for 
my weak optics, unused to scenes like this, already 
are fatigued with over-exercise. 

Pan. Prince, I attend you, pleased and honored, 
to my residence. 

Ivan. I thank your Majesty ! [pressing the hand 
of Korf to his heart] — but do not part us more. 

[Exit Ivan, Korf, Panin, and Guards. 

Razu. Tis somewhat strange, that one who has 
past his life within a dungeon, should feel so much 
at home on his first visit to a court. 

Odart. [aside] And feeling, too, that court by 
right his own — his native soil. 

Cath. I must confess, the perfect calmness of his 
manner somewhat surprised me. 



174 THE FATE OF IVAN: 

Dash. The truly dignified in mind, the noble, 
virtuous, and enlightened being, feels conscious of 
his own importance every where. 

Odart. And he who never has done wrong, 
should never be ashamed to shew his face. 

Cath. Tis well observed, withal misfortune often 
makes the wisest bashful. 

Nov. All that composure seemed to me as of a 
spirit long subdued, that looked beyond this world 
for its supremacy. 

Dash. 'Tis one of Heaven and nature's choicest 
subjects ; I pray our future monarch, our dear Paul 
Petrovitch, may but resemble him. 

Nov. Amen ! 

Cath. My generous friends, at seven we'll meet 
again, when I intreat ye to prefer your best requests, 
for my soul longs to make you some acknowledg- 
ment, to shew you I desire your future favour and 
protection. 

Dash. By way of precedent, your Majesty, I 
will prefer the first. 

Cath. I do commend the good example. 

[They all retire. 



END OF ACT III. 



A TRAGEDY. 175 



ACT IV. 



SCENE I. — An Apartment in the House of Princess 
Dashkoff. 

Enter Panin. 

Pan. Now for one last essay, and then, perhaps, 
adieu to hope for ever. 

Enter Princess Dashkoff. 

Dash. Welcome, my friend, what news ? 

Pan. Should Catharine die to-morrow, and 
Petrovitch cease to exist, would Princess Dashkoff 
have a voice for Ivan 1 

Dash. Ah, do not tempt me ; full many an hour 
the fate of that unfortunate has occupied my mind. 

Pan. You know that now he is a prisoner in my 
power, but in an hour 

Dash. He may no more be so — what are your 
intentions toward the prisoner ? let us be prompt. 

Pan. Deign but to dictate to your slave, speak 
but the word. 

Dash. What are the Empress's designs X 

Pan. Doubtless, to send him instantly to Schus- 
selberg. 

Dash. Can Catharine be so cruel ? 



176 THE FATE OF IVAN: 

Pan. Where pity, reason, justice plead, and 
plead with strongest eloquence, 

Dash. Oh ! His a subject, too, of matchless 
promise, that after Catharine's self who were so 
fit? 

Pan. The jealousy of woman, the fears of 
sovereignty have full excuse in Ivan's merit ; but 
let us dare protect him for the cause of virtue. 
What shall we do ? 

Dash. Ah, quick, convey him to some foreign 
country, where he may taste the sweets of liberty, 
and hail the generous blessings of instruction ; that 
if some evil chance remove the Empress, should 
Paul in early life expire, thousands might wish to 
see this youth in power — all Russia might rejoice to 
find an heir. 

Pan. Oh, as for heirs, should Catharine marry 
Orloff. 

Dash. My Lord! what is it that you would 
insinuate ? 

Pan. I spoke too plainly to insinuate. 

Dash. Catharine and Orloff! what can all this 
mean ? what vile discordance in the very sound ! 

Pan. You think, perhaps, you introduced this 
Orloff at the revolution. 

Dash. Most true ! 

Pan. Ha, ha! Orloff, since that affair of Princess 
Caroukin, has been the tender confidante of Catha- 
rine. 

Dash. Oh ! 'tis impossible ! you are deceived, 
my Lord ! I know that she esteems Count Ponia- 



A TRAGEDY. 1?7 

towsky, I know that politics and human nature 
studying fill every thought and purpose of her soul 
— it cannot be, you are deceived ! 

Pan. And who can but admire the address of 
Catharine, who blinds adoring Russia to her passion 
for the General, and publicly pretends her heart all 
constancy to absent Poniatowsky, for all must deem 
that sentiment platonic ; so, with nice art, when she 
receives a letter from the Pole, she weeps before us 
all. Oh ! 'tis most admirably thought; we see, we 
comment on these tears, and, in the mean, forget on 
whom she smiles ! 

Dash. Ah ! can this indeed be true ? 

Pan. Why all this deep astonishment, my 
Princess ? surely you must have heard, whilst yet 
grand Duchess, Catharine in vulgar fame but lightly 
treated ■ 

Dash. But ever I was led to imagine Vorontzoff 
the fabricator of each calumny, and merely thought 
her friendship for the Pole, a friendship just like 
ours, good Count. 

Pan. [apart] What have I now to hope ? 

Dash. Oh ! but I am indignant with the woman, 
thus to have been insulted and deceived. Yes, I 
will reproach her, and teach her, howe'er expedient 
it may be for monarchs to dissemble, friendship 
should claim exemption of the foul prerogative. 

Pan. Perhaps you have also yet to learn, that 
she intends to recompence the Princess Dashkoff's 
services, by giving her a spouse, [Princess starts] 
and then, to shew to all the world, that to the truly 
noble mind the greatest sacrifice is possible, this 

N 



178 THE FATE OF IVAN: 

same Count Poniatowsky is the destined bright 
reward ! — so will she prove to Russia, that she 
respects a husband's death, whom only Russia's 
good obliged her to dethrone. 

Dash. Am I indeed awake ? reward me with a 
spouse ! 

Pan. Why, 'tis not for a mind like Catharine's 
to guess that such reward could be unwelcome ; and 
then, where shall we find united such perfections 
as in the Pole ? [apart] She hears not. 

Dash. This night I promised to prefer a small 
request. — It shall be so. 

Pan. My friend, what shall be done with Ivan ? 

Dash. Deep policy, to send at distance those 
whose services no longer are required ; and potent 
friends, by evil chance, may potent foes become. 

Pan. Let us forget the Empress — time flies, and 
hope escapes us in the flight — what shall we do with 
Ivan ? 

Dash. Haste, then, do all that justice in your 
mind shall prompt. 

Pan. Draw out for me that nice, that delicate 
degree of justice — so shall respect for you and virtue 
make me preserve the line. 

Dash. Count, you have chosen an unhappy 
moment to tax me with the thoughts of this un- 
fortunate, — -they are bad counsellors whom injury 
excites. 

Pan. There is a hope for every wretch but me. 

Dash. I must forget this woman — good my 
Lord, do you forget each sordid interest, every 
selfish feeling. Remove, at all events, this injured 



A TRAGEDY. 179 

youtli — lose not a moment to secure him from the 
jealous guardianship of Catharine ; you know the 
magic nature of her mind ; perhaps e'en now, our 
thoughts half formed, she has anticipated, and 
raised a barrier to our unborn plans. Oh ! save him, 
then, my Lord, by any sacrifice ; stop not to think, 
but fly to act ; you are a patriot, what can I say 
more ? [Exit Dashkoff. 

Pan. Russia, thou future idol of my worship, 
shall I not prove thee like the mistress I adore, cold, 
and incapable of every sympathetic feeling ? Yet, 
if thou art but served, Dashkoff would say, what 
boots it to the patriot, whether his country finds a 
coffin for the corpse of him who fell a noble victim 
in her cause, or lets the body rot unshrouded where 
it fell, for hungry vultures to get fat upon— now for 
the Prince, to save him if I can — if not for Dash- 
koff, yet for Russia's sake ! 



SCENE 11.— An Apartment in the Palace. 
Enter Catharine and Orloff. 

Orloff. Six regiments, your Majesty, in best 
array, and four not to complain of. 

Cath. J Tis well ; I hear the Princess Dashkoff's 
voice — retire, good Orloff. 

Orloff. Already she is here. 

Cath. Then stay one moment after she has 
entered. 

n 2 



180 THE FATE OF IVAN: 

Enter Dashkoff, who, on seeing Orloff, looks 
indignant. 

Cath. I do rejoice to see the Princess Dashkoff 
first arrived. 

Dash. Hence may your Majesty interpret I 
am most eager to prefer my poor petition ; but 
now, perhaps, I interrupt this gentleman, and you 
may 

Cath. I will despatch my business here this 
moment. Good Orloff, take these papers, see that 
immediately they be dispersed throughout the city. 
[Giving him papers. 

Orloff. Your Majesty shall be obeyed, and 
speedily. 

[Orloff takes the papers; as he is going 
out. Princess Dashkoff looks stedfastly 
after him for some moments without speaking. 

Dash. I must confess the man is not ill made, 
his eyes are black, his cheek is ruddy, and his teeth 
look white. 

Cath. Doth your request respect our General, 
then? 

Dash. No, no, your Majesty, it towers a little 
higher. 

Cath. So much, the happier shall I be to grant 
it. 

Dash. Your Majesty will own, I've been a little 
useful in your cause. 

Cath. Indeed, I feel you cannot ask a due ac- 
knowledgement, 



A TRAGEDY. 181 

Dash. All good my heart desires, your Majesty, 
is but to be appointed Colonel of the regiment of 
Preobajensky. 

Cath. I cannot understand. 

[Appearing surprised. 

Dash. * ' Name me the Colonel of the regi- 
1 ment, 'tis all I ask.' 

Cath. [apart] Who gains the army can com- 
mand the nation. 

Dash. Jealous, I see. 

Cath. ' The Colonel of the regiment, my friend, 
' you are not serious — a place in the academy would 
4 suit you better/ 

Dash. Can there be greater folly to bear the 
name, than in effect to act the character. 

Cath. Ah, that was for an hour ; in moments of 
necessity such things have been, and still may be 
again ; but now that we're at peace, what would it 
avail? you'll find no precedent for such proceed- 
ing. 

Dash. Do minds like mine need precedents to 
act ? am I not blest with reason of my own ? was 
strength bestowed upon the mighty oak that it might 
lean upon its fellow oak ? 

Cath. That's not the question — 'twas well when 
Russia's glory was at stake, but now, I should be 
most ashamed to see my friend in man's attire, 
parading thro' the streets. 

Dash. Ashamed! do I hear right ? Can it be 
possible that Catharine's cheek can glow with 

* The actual request of the Princess* 



182 THE FATE OF IVAN ! 

shame? She who now seated on the imperial 
throne of Russia, deigns with complacent smiles to 
look upon a man, who but the other day was one of 
fortune's humblest soldiers ! Is this a conduct for 
an Empress ? Oh woman ! woman ! had I sooner 
known thee, I had not moved a step to set thee on 
the royal pinnacle-— this is an error in my life I may 1 
deplore, but never can atone. Oh ! how far-famed 
shall Russia's court be found ! E'en now I see the 
banished vicious of the other courts of Europe, 
seek refuge 'neath thy canopy, these thou shalt be 
obliged to welcome, or hear them boldly tell thee to 
thy face unseemly truths, and when unfriendly 
faction spreads her fire, and discontents on every 
side prevail, wilt thou not be obliged to hear thy 
frailty made the excuse of mutinies ? May not good 
men in reason spurn at thy proceedings ? Wilt thou 
not be indignant to read in this and that recording 
tale thy private history? and when was't that a 
Monarch's actions were concealed ? when was't, 
that being great in some respects gave to the mind 
a privilege unkindly, to descend to sin in others ? 

Cath. Away, away ! and learn to measure better 
thy discourse to royal ears — and what is't, with the 
which thou darest reproach me ? Who told thee 
this ? What, then, shall I not hold converse with 
my Statesmen, because, forsooth, envy will tell that 
which she never heard, and busy slander fancy in 
the very zephyr's breath an outrage ? But e'en 
suppose it, as thou dost pretend, that I love OrlofF ; 
would'st thou for this presume to criminate me ? 
My heart I own is formed for social ties, merit I 



A TRAGEDY. 183 

estimate, in whatever state I find it, or man or 
woman ; there is of that degree which equalizes all, 
nor shall the brilliants which encircle Russia's 
crown, blind me to that which every soul enhances. 
Orloff has served me with unequalled zeal ; his 
courage I admire ! I owe him gratitude ! what next 
may follow in my heart is not for thee to question, 
me to say ; howe'er it be, thou'lt find Catharine, still 
reigns in Russia, still holds a power supreme to 
punish the audacity of those, who dare with her 
contest the right and wrong. 

Dash. Tis well defended, noble Princess, but 
for aught I see, I might as well have aided Voront- 
zoflf to mount the throne. 

Cath. And not unlike it might be meaner 
jealousy of her apparently approaching greatness, 
that caused thee first to move in my support. 

Dash. After what is, I cannot be surprised at 
this ; and never, never, was there yet on earth a 
virtuous action, for which a vicious soul could not 
find out some deep unworthy motive. 'Twas well 
observed by Panin in the council. 

Cath. If thou hast sworn to all mankind decided 
enmity, I tell thee thou art free so to conform — I 
shall not seek to tax thee with a spouse ; let that 
content thee. 

Dash. To tax me with a spouse ! forsooth, thy 
better judgment doth forsake thee ! Are hearts like 
mine to be commanded to esteem, or threatened into 
love ? or for state policy shall I be sold ? thy shoe, 
thy glove, is thine, use and abuse them as thou wilt ; 
but learn to know thy subjects better, and better, 
what befits thee ! 



184 THE PATE OF IVAN : 

Cath. Thank Heaven I have no other subjects 
like thyself. 

Dash. No! sooner than I would be made thy 
tool in such a case, I tell thee truly, for I love the 
truth, that thou should'st doom me to perpetual 
exile, in all the horrors of Siberia, or at one stroke 
possess thee of my head — but hearts are free, and 
mine is firm and bold ! 

Cath. If thou hast been informed such were my 
views, 'tis false ; courtiers will lie, and, say, can 
kings prevent them ? 

Dash. What, did I seek the burden of a spouse, 
must I have thy direction in the choice ? or are the 
men of Russia so devoid of grace, that they require 
to be instructed, that virtue in a wife is seemly ? or 
do they lack discernment, and need the eyes of 
Catharine to discover where merit has existence ? 
or what is't that our royal mistress thinks ? 

Cath. I think the man who'd venture to espouse 
thee, should have a heart of brass, and be encircled 
in a coat of mail. 

Dash. And let me tell thee more ; the man thou 
wouldst commend to my regard, would need 
no other vice to assure my strongest hate, than 
sharing thy protection. Will this convince thee ? 

Cath. I am convinced thou art more fitted to 
excite astonishment, and terror, than to inspire 
esteem, and admiration. 

Dash. Or art thou one of those plebeian souls so 
prone to self-assimilate, that thou must give to me 
thy grosser failings, forgetting in the mean, there 
never yet was found two faces, or two minds alike. 



A TRAGEDY. 185 

Cath. Like thee, I am assured, none can be 
found ! 

Dash. Thou knowest, that e'er my judgment was 
matured, or I could well appreciate the worth of 
others, in pure obedience to a father's will, I married. 
The spouse he chose for me had noble qualities, and 
soon I learnt to honor him ; and having once be- 
stowed in full sincerity my heart, his is that heart to 
all eternity ! Oh 'twas not formed of stuff so vile, 
that I could give, and take it back, and give it to 
another; 'tis not for death itself to separate two 
souls which virtue and approving reason joined in 
consonance — dead is my lord ; yet still his bright 
remembrance lives within my heart, nor can I doubt 
that to his thought, I still am ever present ; and in 
that sacred dear assurance here it is, that I support 
with cheerfulness existence. How could I meet 
thee, friend, in yon bright realms, polluted with the 
thoughts of other's love?— but no, it could not be, I 
could not be admitted to the same degree of happi- 
ness hereafter, if I had learnt on earth forgetfulness 
of thee ! Marry again ! my soul revolts, and loathes 
thee for the thought ! 

Cath. 'Tis time shall prove, and not mere pomp 
of words, the truth of thy professions. 

Dash. Yes, time shall prove, and whilst it 
stamps on the historic page in lasting characters 
great Catharine's vices, the name of Dashkoff shall 
be honored — be unsullied still ! 

Cath. Away ! 'tis not my royal pleasure to bear 
thee more. 

Dash. One admonition for our friendship past, 



186 the fate or IVAN : 

which never cart revive to second life ; reflect, I 
charge thee well, on thy proceedings : consider 
seriously for what thou art responsible — dare not to 
let thy failings meet too broadly the public eye—, 
thou know'st how easily a faction's raised, how 
quickly spreads the plague of discontent, how dif- 
ficult it is to root the vice that once has spread itself 
throughout the body politic — faults of such magni- 
tude need a thick veil— then watch, and closely, o'er 
thy people's happiness ; be ever studious of their 
general improvement — cease not to occupy the mul- 
titude with plans of aggrandizement here, and com- 
merce there, so shall they, in the thoughts of 
universal 'vantage, forget to look at thy obscurer 
actions, so may'st thou reign securely, and fame and 
glory spread their halo round thee ! take this, the 
testament of sacred friendship ! 

[Exit Princess Dashkoff. 
Cath. What may all this mean ? Why there are 
subjects now in Russia, which only Catharine's self 
can calmly view — how easy faction may be raised, 
she says, and I have fully proved : to spare again the 
trial of her prowess, I will this moment send an 
order for her to depart to Moscow. Thank Heaven ! 
no other Dashkoff will be left in Petersburgh. 

SCENE III. — Tlie Library in the Palace — Catha- 
rine seated at a table. 

Enter Kate. 

Kate. This moment may it please your Majesty, 
I have seen Odart, and promptly he'll pursue me here. 



A TRAGEDY. 187 

Calk. Thou hast been most diligent. 
• Kate. Now I will hasten to commission Orloff, 
and as I think the Minister may follow 

Enter Odart one way, and exit Kate another. 

Catli. Odart, I am already half informed that 
you would speak of Ivan. Is he secure — still 
Panin's guest ? 

Odart. And Dashkoffs protegee — the minister 
breathes nothing but her pleasure — then there's a 
certain something 'bout this Princess, that let her 
but suppose a shadow of injustice, without or social 
tie, or tie of consanguinity, or e'en the dearer bonds 
of social interest, she sets to work, nor rests till she 
destroys what in her mind appears the abusive 
power. 

Catli. 'Tis well defined the Princess Dashkoff's 
character. 

Odart. Now should the plot be for the Princess 
Dashkoff to marry Ivan ? 

Cath. To marry Ivan ? [Starting. 

Odart. To give the Prince legitimate pretence to 
usurp your place. 

Cath. Pm lost in wonder, can such, a thing have 
risen, indeed, to thought? 

Odart. Panin and Dashkoff in close concert — 

Cath. But, whilst we speak, quick she departs 
for Moscow. 

Odart. And may return, your Majesty, escorted 
by the regiment of Preobajensky — e'en now per- 
haps they march — say, shall I haste, your Majesty, 



188 THE FATE OF IVAN*. 

Cath. Can all this be ? 

Odart. I trust your Majesty is most assured of 
my devotion to your cause. 

Cath. Odart, I give you credit for your zeal, and 
trust your secresy, but scarce can I recover my 
amazement. 

Odart. I will be Argus for your Majesty, and 
hasten with the first intelligence : already round the 
palace I behold the troops of Dashkoff with the 
aspiring Ivan at their head. 

[Exit Odart. 

Cath. Marry the Prince ! I'm lost in wonder 
still — two subjects fit for sovereignty indeed ! e'en 
Russia's interest could not suffer here. Can such a 
measure well-concerted fail to prosper ? Marry the 
Prince ! yes, yes, persuade her ^tis for Russia's 
good, and e'en to take a spouse you might persuade 
her. Why I am obliged myself to admire the great 
projection ; but, can it be the subtle Odart's own 
erection ? withal so possible. Oh royalty ! thou 
must not nurse the virtues which adorn humanity in 
humble state — 'tis not for thee reposing confidence 
and calm security in others friendship, no, thou must 
sleep with thy eyes open, learn cool distrust of all 
and deep suspicion, for thou must be the tool of 
others passions, and feel severely when courtiers most 
pretend devotion to thy cause, they fight for thee 
but to avenge their private injuries and selfish 
wrongs. Nothing remains for policy in deep un- 
certainty but to conform, as if the evil had in truth 
existence. 



A TRAGEDY. 189 



Enter a Pas;e. 



Page. Count Panin waits, your Majesty. 

Cath. Instantly admit him [Exit Page] — so, 
if it be a dream, or stronger fact, alike the mischief 
is arrested. 

Enter Count Panin. 

Pan. I came, your Majesty, to speak 

Cath. Of Ivan, is it not ? it was expressly on 
that subject I sent to give you counsel. 

Pan. Your Majesty anticipates me well, [apart] 
and but too promptly. 

Cath. It is a talent I'm remarked for. 

Pan. Your Majesty has, doubtless, well con- 
sidered what measures it were best to adopt. 

Cath. Oh ! in a moment, that was settled in 
my mind. 

[Approaches a table and ivrites a note, rings, and 
enter a Page. 

Pan. [apart] Measures so prompt, are seldom 
marked by mercy. 

Cath. 'Tis not for monarchs to delay and 
hesitate, [to the Page] Take this — dispatch it 
instantly to Orloff. [Exit Page] Your guests, 
[to Panin] my friend, young Ivan and the Baron 
Korf, must be this night, this very hour, to Schus- 
selberg conducted. 

Pan. To Schusselberg, your Majesty ! 

Cath. Aye, to Schusselberg, so prompt is 



190 THE FATE OF IVAN: 

always Orloff to execute our orders, that soon as 
thou shalt reach again thy mansion, thou'lt find 
the guards assembled, ready to conduct them 
thither. 

Pan. But then a moment think, your Majesty, 
should any evil chance deprive us of your son, the 
hope of Russia 

Cath. Go, go, blind politician ! Should I not, 
for the present, secure the youth from a temptation 
to betray his dearest interest ? can I not, whilst in 
Schusselberg he lodges, reflect what measure's best 
to be pursued with his regard ? think'st thou I'm so 
bewitched with royalty, that I must hence bear 
deadly, envious hate 'gainst every one that has a 
moderate chance of being heir to my possessions ? 
and that because this youth has just pretensions to 
the regal chair, him I should single out from every 
other to put aside ? Has he not brothers, sisters, 
too, and, should he fall, do they not heirs become 
to Russia's throne ? What would avail to crop the 
head, and leave the potent root and the supported 
branches ? away, my Lord, these mean suspicions do 
me much injustice. I am, Sir, newly risen into 
power — I have my enemies — yes, some dispute my 
claim, and some, yet more, resolve I shall not calmly 
sit upon the height. My honest purpose now with 
Ivan is but to place a barrier to the idle plans of 
those, who, for to better, reek their vengeance on my 
head, might make the Prince the suffering instrument 
against me, so that his very life might be endangered, 
and every plan we have in agitation for his advan- 
tage, fatally evaded. The times are critical, and 



A TRAGEDY. 191 

whilst abroad he is allowed to move, all is at stake ; 
again, I cannot answer what a blind zeal for my 
security might prompt some ardent partizans to do 
towards him, for you are well assured, my Lord, 
when revolutions once take place, the change ef- 
fected, the fever of the public mind does not im- 
mediately subside ; and for their favourite party 
then, e'en good men startle not at those same 
crimes, which, in a tranquil state of politics, they 
shudder barely to contemplate in the pale records of 
the past ; all is delirium, doubt, uncertainty, and the 
physician's nicest skill is needed to palliate, prevent, 
and temporize. The case, my Lord, is urgent — at 
Schusselberg, I may presume, as hitherto, the 
Prince will be secure — there, soon as the times 
permit, procure him every meet instruction ; let him 
be properly attended ; let him within the fortress 
breathe the purer air, and lodge him where the light 
of Heaven may shine upon him — 'tis not my future 
purpose to punish even crime with darkness ; the 
God who gave us eyes, intended man should up- 
wards look for mercy ; the humble mole he doomed 
to live inhumed, and therefore was the creature 
taxed with blindness — enough of metaphor, in 
plainer phrase, this hour the Prince must be to 
Schusselberg conducted, for that, I well perceive, 
is most expedient for our mutual safety. 

Pan. Herein I see the wisdom of your Majesty, 
and I will hasten to assure the Prince of your 
benevolent intentions towards him, else might he 
too severely feel the seeming harshness of that fate 
which sends him back to Schusselberg, where he 



192 THE FATE OF IVAN: 

already has endured, for fifteen years, the darkest 
horrors of captivity. 

Cath. 'Tis well ! all haste, my Lord, the troops 
are on their way. [Exit Pan in] So, so, the 
Princess DashkofT has performed her promises, and 
Panin long has lived a captive to her charms, and 
the despised and jealous Odart, knowing the Count 
more reverenced than himself, came here to excite 
my fears to their destruction — truth pierces through 
the murky cloud — what renders common minds so 
base as love despised ? I am convinced she would 
not marry Ivan — were that the project in debate 
Panin, the infatuated Panin ! had not come here to 
plead his rival's cause. [Edit Catharine. 



end of act IV. 



A TRAGEDY. 193 



ACT V. 



SCENE I. — The outside of the Prison at Schussel- 
berg — Moonlight — Guards at the door of the 
Prison, the bridge in the back ground— Miro- 
vitch pacing backwards and forwards near the 

■ Fortress— Vlassief and Tschekin come forward 
with a paper and a light— Mirovitch attends to 
them unobserved. 

Vlass. [reading the paper~\ " Expect the Prince 
each moment ; the Baron Korf returns with him — 
they must be lodged in separate cells— let them have 
lights — our further orders ye shall have to morrow, 
one thing herewith you're charged, so need we not 
repeat; should ever an attempt be made to set the 
prisoner at liberty, mark how we charge you, as you 
value life {Reading with a low voice. 

Vlass. and Tsch. Humph ! humph ! mark that 
indeed ! — " We charge you on the very first appear- 
ance of a rupture of this nature " 

[Vlassief looks about him, and seeing Miro- 
vitch, reads the remainder of the paper to 
himself, Tschekin looks over him with horror. 
< Tsch. A pretty charge, forsooth, is this become, 
I'll have no more on't. 

Vlass. Would'st thou be safe, stay where thou 
art. Kate's a usurper, so she's afraid of every 
blast of wind ; besides, with all state prisoners this 
o 



194 THE FATE OF IVAN: 

is the charge in Russia, and who will give them- 
selves the trouble now to set at liberty a man who has 
been left to languish in a prison these twenty 
years ? 

Tsch. Alas ! poor Ivan ! 

Vlass. But light and better food it seems are 
granted. 

Tsch. I hear some tumult on the bridge; the 
prisoners are coming, let us proceed. 

[Exeunt together. 

Mirovitch and Soldiers come forward. 

Mirov. So, gentlemen, the prisoner is returning, 
that I have overheard ; hard fate enough an iron 
heart would own. Oh ! would I could effect some 
change in Russia ! 

1st. Sol. Poor Peter is dispatched already; the 
change, for aught we know, is sad enough for him, 
and not much better for poor Ivan. 

Mirov. There was something in that letter, 
friends, which filled the guards with deep astonish- 
ment, and the good-natured man looked horror- 
struck. 

2nd Sol. That bodes no good. 

Mirov. 'Twere no great enterprise to place this 
youth where Catharine now sits. 

1st Sol. For, say they, she's not liked too 
much. 

Mirov. Never was revolution brought about so 
easily as this. 

2nd Sol. It is encouragement, thou mean'st, to 
act another, and a better piece. 



A TRAGEDY. 195 

1st Sol, Why, it cost Russia nothing but a few 
casks of brandy. 

Mirov. And what if this be heavier taxed, let 
Catharine pay the cost. 

2nd Sol. For if she pays not here, she must 
hereafter. 

1st Sol. Hark'ye, Lieutenant, what noise ? 

Mirov. Heavens ! they are already coming 1 . 

2nd Sol. So thou mayest see this woman executes 
before she draws her plans. 

1st Sol. And we've a chance of being hanged 
before we can be tried. 

Mirov. They are crossing the bridge — let us re- 
treat, my friends; I've something to propose to you; 
meet me in half an hour, behind the fortress — this 
way, this way. 

[Exit hastily, Mlrovitch and troop. 
[The noise of feet is heard, a troop of guards 
is seen to cross the bridge; Ivan and Korf 
guarded, pass with them. 

SCENE II.' — The inside of the Prison at Schusselberg 
— a Cell lighted. 

Enter Ivan, Korf, and Guards — Ivan looks about 
him with emotion. 

Ivan, [throwing his arms round Korf] Oh 
Korf 1 I, then, was taken from this place, but to in- 
volve my only friend in my misfortune — there lives 
no Czar thy age to honor and redress our wrongs. 

Korf Be comforted ; e'en yet the time may 
come. 

o 2 



196 



THE FATE OF IVAN: 



Ivan. Oh pitying Heaven ! If I had any wish 
for a small portion of what the world considers bless- 
ings here, it was alone to give some pleasure to a 
father's heart, to assure a mother's latter end, some 
balm of consolation — forgive, All-righteous, if this 
a fault could be. 

Korf. {kneeling] O Thou Supreme ! whom 
for near seventy years, I have been essaying, not in 
vain I trust, to serve, give ear, I pray thee, to the 
mourner's voice — ward off the wicked purpose of the 
foe, turn, Thou Omnipotent, the purpose of their 
hearts, and save from further injury thy servant Ivan. 

Guards. Amen ! 

Korf. So Korf will die contented. 

Ivan. Release, All-gracious Providence, my 
friend, and I can thank thee for my prison still. 

Enter more Guards. 

Guards. We are commanded to separate the 
prisoners immediately 

Ivan. Oh ! for pity leave us but a day together. 
Guard. My Prince, we dare not disobey. 
Korf. Dear Ivan, we must submit. 
Ivan. Oh ! that submission to the Almighty's will 
should now be painful, 

Korf. We shall meet again ! 
Ivan. In Heaven, indeed ! 
Korf. Farewell, my Prince, my son ! 
Ivan. My second father. 

{Exit Korf, and Guards — Iv an follows them 
to the farthest part of the Cell, and the Scene 
closes. 



A TRAGEDY 197 



SCENE III. — An Apartment in the Archbishop of 
Novgorod's Palace. The Archbishop of Nov- 
gorod, Gleboff, Passick, Teploff, Buloff, 
Kradock, and several others — several armed men 
in waiting. 

Nov. [to the armed men] Secure the outer gate, 
and watch the southern port, and then send 
Kradock's troop to wait our orders ; we must an- 
ticipate our foes, or all is lost. [Exit armed men. 

Gleb. For who so prompt to dream of danger- 
plotting as Catharine ? 

Enter Odart. 

Odart. Ye wise, ye crafty, penetrating Gentle- 
men, who, it appears, but little dream of what the 
fates are now preparing for you, I haste to warn you 
of your danger, that, if ye're valiant, ye may the 
occasion seize, and seek revenge — Catharine, my 
friends, knowing that Peter's cause you once for- 
sook, has ever looked suspiciously on your proceed- 
ings, and want of time, not lack of inclination, has 
hitherto prevented your arrest : — expect it now each 
hour. 

Nov. How's this ? 

Odart. You all do know, that I in some oc- 
casions have been useful to the State. 

Gleb. Most certainly, 

Odart. Now see how I'm rewarded [taking 



198 THE FATE OF IVAN: 

out a paper], c Within twelve hours/ this paper says, 
' depart from Petersburgh; you shall be speedily re- 
1 called/ the artful Catharine adds, of which I credit 
nought ; and then, by way of pure confession that 
she wrongs me, she here incloses me some precious 
stones. 

Gleb. Food indigestible, after a physic so out- 
rageous. 

Nov. Ha, ha ! 'tis just as I presumed, here is a 
double plea for us to act. 

Gleb. I'll 'scape the meditated fate, or I no more 
am Gleboff. 

Pass. ' Well says the secretary Brodorf, this 
' new-sprung Empress serves her choice friends, as 
1 we serve oranges, she sucks the juice, and throws 
1 the rest away/ 

Odart. The fool who brought me this, declared 
it was not I alone on whom the lot was cast. 

Pass. Haste, then, evade her purpose — be bold 
— set Ivan on the throne, and use her proper 
weapons 'gainst herself. 

Gleb. Had Peter's troops once reached the 
capital, Catharine had never sat upon the throne. 

Nov. What honest man would live beneath 
such rulers? what is this Orloff, whom, perhaps, 
she means to espouse ? what are all those that now 
surround the throne ? 

Pass. And what is she that sits upon it ? 

Gleb. Let us not see the power we've given 
abused. 

Odart. No, 'tis not thus that patriots serve their 
country. 



A TRAGEDY. 199 

Pass. Let us this very hour surround the Palace ; 
your regiment, Archbishop, is sufficient ; we can 
proceed without disturbance — 'tis dark — the road is 
safe — we know the path, and may secure this woman 
in a moment. 

Nov. I like the advice. 

Pass. That done, we may proclaim an Em- 
peror. 

Nov. I am prepared for that, too. 

Odart. I vote for Ivan, only! 
[The Archbishop knocks three times at a door in 
the back ground. 

Enter twelve men bearing standards, on six of the 
standards are marked in large characters, " For 
Justice and for Ivan!" "Down with the Usurper !" 
On the others, "For Liberty and Paul !" " Down 
with the Empress ! " 

Omnes. Hurra ! Hurra ! 

Nov. Now haste, proclaim yourselves, my 
friends. 

Pass. I vote for Ivan only ! what if ye should 
exalt the nursling Paul, the artful Catharine still 
would meddle, still contrive to govern. 

Odart. And skilful men would still the Court 
be banished ; my vote shall be for Ivan ! 

Gleb. And mine ! and mine ! 

Pass. Then down with Paul and Catharine ! 

Omnes. Long live the virtuous Ivan ! 
[Passick knocks down the standards on ivhich 
Paul is written. 



200 THE FATE OF IVAN: 

Omnes. Down with the Usurper ! 

Nov.- Nothing so easy as to stir up strife in 
Russia. 

Gleb. And well 'tis known, that drops of brandy 
in the last revolt, paid and repaid the exertions of 
the mob. 

Nov. Three regiments are in my power, and 
wait my instant warning. 

Pass. And when bold Catharine is secured, we 
must proceed to Schusselberg. 

Gleb. A simple guard of but a hundred men 
waits at the fortress. 

Odart. And but one regiment is stationed in the 
town. 

Nov. I have often heard that Mirovitch, Lieu- 
tenant in it, is dissatisfied. 

Pass. He would espouse the cause. 

Gleb. 'Tis somewhat doubtful, as Catharine 
artfully pretends the great estates of Mirovitch shall 
be restored to him. 

Odart. The question is to know, whether he 
hopes upon that subject still, or meditates revenge 
in deep despair. 

Nov. The man's a mystery, forsooth, which 
nothing can unriddle. 

Gleb. But yet by no means wanting/to our 
cause. 

Odart. As ye are rich in troops, your best ex- 
pedient will be to divide. 

Nov. True — send the one-half direct to Schus- 
selberg, to set at liberty the Prince ; so, whilst 
we're making Catharine prisoner, our Emperor may 



A TKAGEDY. 201 

appear amongst us to dignify the cause ; the dis- 
content is general — we shall be joined by thousands. 

Omnes. Long live the Emperor Ivan ! 

Gleb. 'Tis half-past nine ; at ten, [looking at 
his ivatcli] dame Kate retires — if we begin our 
work in Petersburgh precisely at eleven 

Pass. Kate will be snugly dreaming of our ban- 
ishment. 

Odart. And the proud lion Orloff will have 
sheathed his sword, to drink success to Catharine 
and to Russia ! aye, and perhaps subdued by 
Bacchus' self, the potent gift we may exert against 
the coxcomb's self, and leave him, like a second 
Holofernes, in his tent 

Omnes. Hurrah ! Long live the valiant Odart ! 

Enter hastily Ism a el, and an immense troop of 
Guards — whilst the Guards of the Empress are 
securing the standard bearers of the Bishop, 
Odart draws his sword cm Ismael; Ismael 
draws, they fight. In the mean time a scuffle 
ensues between the Guards of the Empress i and 
the Guards of the Bishop. 

Ismael. \fghting] Thus thou requit'st the 
favour of thy Mistress, thou had'st permission to 
depart in peace. 

Odart. And thus thou pay'st thy treachery to an 
honest man. Die traitor ! home to thy heart — this 
for the Emperor ! 

[The Guards interfere, but before they are 
parted, Ismael is wounded and falls. 



202 THE FATE OF IVAN : 

Ism. Oh, oh ! what have I gained, then ? 
. Odart. What thou, *bove all men in this empire 
dost deserve, preferment with the Prince of dark- 
ness, and positive destruction here ! It is as it 
should be. 

Ism. Oh! Oh! [Dies. 

[The Guards, after a struggle, seize o« Novgo- 
rod, Gleboff, Passick, aud others. 

Omnes. Is there no way to escape ? 

1st Guard. Rely upon the mercy of the 
Empress. 

Pass. Damned be her mercy ! 

2nd Guard. Bear the body away, friends ! 

[Some of the Guards remove Ismael. 

Gleb. So may thy mistress perish, and all her 
cursed agents ! 

1st Guard. Better, my friends, submit and ask 
for mercy. 

Pass. Perdition seize her ! furies will ever haunt 
her here, and seize her to destruction in eternity ! 

Omnes. Amen ! 

1st Guard. Lead out, gentlemen. 

Odart. Courage, my friends, she dares not 
touch a hair upon our heads. 

Omnes. [except Catharine's parti/] Long 
live the Emperor Ivan ! Down with the usurper ! 
Ivan for ever ! Long live the injured Ivan ! 

[As they are led out by the Guards. 



A TRAGEDY - . 203 



SCENE IV.— An Apartment in the Palace— 
Catharine and Orloff. 

Cath. This insurrection quelled by thy skill so 
readily, I may hope more security in future. 

Orloff. Has your Majesty as yet considered what 
punishment to inflict upon your prisoners ? 

Cath. With a choice guard, Odart must be im- 
mediately conducted out of the kingdom, according 
to my first command — to inflict on him a punish- 
ment more capital were but to loudly publish every 
circumstance which policy directs me to conceal; so 
true 'tis often found, one treason draws another on 
— the more ye publish of the vice of men, but the 
more bold they grow in evil. 

Orloff. And for the others, they're secure in 
prison. 

Cath. And may remain there, for my second 
thought. Thou know'st the Princess Dashkoff was 
recalled, e'er scarce the route to Moscow she 
beheld. 

Orloff. Has then your Majesty been pleased to 
pardon her ? 

Cath. Why, for state reasons, it did seem the 
best ; because, forsooth, without that radiance, the 
minister is like our earth deprived of yon bright 
beam, a dark, a vapid, cheerless, lifeless form. 

Orloff. And I sincerely think all that she said, 
was the mere effervescence of her rage, when you 
refused her strange request — the impulse of the 
moment 



204 THE FATE OF IVAN : 

Cath. Aye, and the dread that I should seek to 
recompense her services by giving her a spouse. 

Orloff. According to report, a most unwelcome 
proposition. 

Cath. True, I believe it now ; but cannot think 
the whim will be of long duration. 

Orloff. [smiling] Humph ! There is no place on 
earth which she abhors so much as Moscow. Has 
she consented to be reconciled ? 

Cath. The minister assures me so, and yet, per- 
haps, he does deceive himself; and hopes, and 
speaks, and thinks that which he most desires. If 
it be true, indeed, I shall learn further of these same 
conspirators, I have already written to inquire if she 
had any knowledge of them. 

Enter Kate Ivanovitch. 

Kate. May it please your Majesty, the Princess 
Dashkoff is arrived, and waits your pleasure in the 
library. 

Cath. Go send her here, good Kate, the instant. 

{Exit Kate. 

Orloff. I will retire a moment, if it please your 
Majesty. 

Cath. A moment be it then ; the intelligence 
she brings, perhaps, may need your ready notice. 

[Exit Orloff. 

Enter Princess Dashkoff, holding in her hand a 
paper. 

Dash. Is this the writing of your Majesty ? 

[Giving the paper. 



A TRAGEDY. 205 

Cath. Most true, my Princess. 

Dash. Indeed ! indeed ! 

Cath. Do, then, the characters seem different to 
you? 

Dash. In truth, that sun of Moscow glared so 
boldly in my face, my eyes are dimmed, scarce can 
I see in Petersburgh what passes round me. 

Cath. I cannot understand these tropes, my 
Princess. 

Dash. Will, then, your Majesty be pleased to 
understand plain phrase, and simple truth ? I bear 
no malice in my heart, nor ever stoop to mean 
revenge ; but to forget an insult, or an injury, I want 
the inclination, and lack as much the power. 

Cath. Such feeling who can reprobate ? 'tis 
what I most admire. 

Dash. So far we sympathize. 

Cath. And not in that alone, I trust. 

Dash. Actions determine more than words. 

Cath. But of this plot, I wish to speak 

Dash. * ' Madam, to answer that on purpose 

• I am come, and, in plain words, I have heard 
' nothing : if I had, good care I'd take to whom I 
1 spoke of it — what is it that your Majesty requires 

* of me— to expire upon a scaffold ? Woman, behold 
'.me ready, then, to mount it.' 

[She throws the letter down and. exit. 

Cath. The sun of Moscow ! never did I feel so 

fierce its power. Am I an Empress, then, thus to 

* The real answer of the Princess. 



206 THE FATE OF IVAN : 

be braved ? not yet secure I sit — but yet — I dare not 
think — she bears no malice, stoops to no revenge, in 
sooth, that is a needy consolation. Oh, painful 
royalty ! each diamond that adorns a crown, is 
pointed with a thorn, that, inward turning, festers in 
the head of him that wears it ; — friend, thou hast 
none, for none thou darest to have. 

[Exit Catharine. 



SCENE V.— The outside of the Fortress of Schus- 
selberg. Mirovitch pacing backwards and 
forwards. 

Mirov. My time of guard expires to-morrow 
— can I, then, proceed ? have I not engaged to 
do it ? what ? then it is not done, therefore re- 
pentance cannot be too late, and what the con- 
sequence may be it is not easy to assure — suppose 
the Prince should, I must advance — here is my 
troop. [Enter a party of Soldiers. 

Will ye all swear, now, to a man ? 

1st Sol. Before we advance, let us see the order 
which you say you have received from Petersburgh, 
else we will not swear, or stir a jot in this business. 

Omnes. So we have all determined. 

Mirov. Friends, that is reasonable ; and as I 
have the mandate now about me, you shall have 
instant proof of the authority on which I move ; so 
if we are but bold, we must effect our purpose, and 



A TRAGEDY. 207 

for the consequence, the glory and the gain alike 
are ours ! here it is. 

[Taking out of his pocket a paper, at which the 
Soldiers look. 

1st Sol. [reads'] " In the name of the august 
Senate of Petersburgh, we, the under-written mem- 
bers, do herein enjoin Lieutenant Mirovitch to exert 
himself to the utmost to release Prince Ivan — to aid 
him in effecting this, we will meet him with a 
powerful force on the South of the bridge, on the 
night of the sixth ult., at eleven ; this done, he 
must proceed immediately to the capital, which will 
be under arms waiting his approach ; for, seeing 
that Catharine the Usurper is now gone into 
Livonia, to marry Count Poniatowski, we take this 
opportunity of excluding her for ever from the 
throne of Russia, and we swear not to rest until we 
have placed the imperial crown on the brow of him, 
to whom it in right belongs, and so Heaven prosper 
us.'* (Signed this day.) 

Mirov. These are men, my friends, the most 
respectable in the Empire, one of whose sanction 
would be enough for me to proceed upon. 

1st Sol. We can have no doubt now. 

2nd Sol. This woman long has given umbrage. 

3rd Sol. It is not fit that she should reign. 

Mirov. Think of this youth, how hard has been 
his fate. 

1st Sol. Once Emperor proclaimed, then twenty 
years a prisoner. 

2nd Sol. Heaven looks with pity on his cause at last. 



208 THE FATE OF IVAN : 

Mirov. Will you now swear with me to set him 
free — not to recede a step when on the way ? as I 
do now. 

[Mirovitch draws his sivord, and they all 
draw. 
. Omnes. We swear ! 

Mirov. Swear, at eleven. 

Omnes. Eleven, we swear ! 

Mirov. Now to the bridge, my friends/ to leave 
a message and provide our arms. [Exeunt. 



SCENE VI. — Before the prison of Schusselberg — 
night. As Mirovitch and his troop are advanc- 
ing, Berednikoff, the Governor, enters and 
meets them. 

Mirov. 'Sdeath to my hopes ! here is the Go- 
vernor. 

Bered. How now, Lieutenant Mirovitch, at the 
head of his troop at this hour, and in arms. 

Mirov. So thou may'st feel ! 

[Knocks him down with the butt-end of his gun. 

1st Sol. You have done for him. 

Mirov. No, no, he is only confounded, but 
before he can give any alarm, we shall have com- 
pleted our enterprize : lay him behind that wall, 
friends. [Two of the Soldiers bear him off. 

2nd Sol. If we should happen to lose the fight, 
and the Governor gets on his legs again, we shall 
all be handsomely paid for our trouble. 



A TRAGEDY. 209 

Mirov. Ye are all sworn. 
Omnes. Sworn ! sworn ! sworn ! 

[Exit Mirovitch and Soldiers. 

Enter Baron Korf. 

Korf. What can this mean ? my guard has left 
his post ; the prison door was open to my touch — 
alas ! I am very faint. Oh, liberty ! thou common 
idol of mankind, too late for me thou spread'st a 
lure on this side of the grave — scarce will my limbs 
support me — the vapors of the prison, the fate of 
Ivan, all conspire to unnerve me ; which way can I 
turn ? could I but find the door which leads to 
Ivan's cell; perhaps — ah, that I dare not hope — all 
is not well — the cloud bedims the moon, I cannot 
see which way to turn me. [moves, feeling] I hear 
a noise, I'll try to follow ; 'tis strange at this late 
hour about the fort. [Exit Korf. 

The Scene changes to the door of Ivan's prison. 
Mirovitch and his troop attack the centinel at 
the door, who endeavours to repulse them. 

Sol. We did not expect this. 
Soldiers. Let us return. 

Mirov. Courage, my friends ! do not yield, we 
soon shall overcome them — we are six times their 
number. 

[The troops of Mirovitch continue some 
moments fighting the centinel; Mirovitch 
and his troops are obliged to give back, they 



210 THE FATE OF IVAN: 

retreat with their faces towards the enemy, 
they are heard fighting behind the scenes — 
Mirovitch is heard inspiring them. 

Mirov. Courage, my friends, 'tis all we want. 

Soldiers. They fall ! they fly ! 

Omnes. Hurra ! hurra ! 

Mirov. We gain the day — victory ! 

Omnes. Victory ! hurra ! 



SCENE V.— -The inside of Ivan's Prison— Ivan 
stretched, and asleep. Vlassief and Tschekin are 
also reposing — the sound of soft music — first 
distant, then approaches — a flash of light — a 
winged Spirit hovers over the coach of Ivan. 

[Spirit speaks] " Look up, thou long-afflicted ! 
thou well prepared for yonder blissful realms — thou 
art no more to live a prisoner ; the chain is broken 
— 'tis over! all is over ! Thou shalt be happy, Ivan, 
and be free ! Once in this nether world I was a 
Prince, an exile, and a captive — look on my form 
and see the glorious change ; for thee alike the un- 
fading diadem is wrought — round thy fair brow 
shall glow celestial halos — for in thy praise, in thy 
submission here, thy triumph 'midst the holy is 
complete ! I am the highly favoured spirit always 
sent to virtuous royalty ; the final hour, I wait to 
lead them o'er the vast abyss which separates eter- 
nal night, from our unceasing day ; no power of 
darkness can approach whilst I am near; safe in a 
moment we shall reach the blissful seat ; myriads 



A TRAGEDY. 211 

already chaimt thy welcome home. Ivan the chosen 
one approaches, welcome, thou long-afflicted ! Ivan, 
be happy, and be free ! 

[The Spirit vanishes with soft music. 

Ivan, [awaking] Tis early, as I think, yet I 
have slept and dreamt — a gentle cherub seemed to 
hover round me, and three times called on Ivan — 
Ivan, be happy and be free ! Be free ! whilst 
Catharine lives, can that be possible ? or is it that 
my earthly course is almost now expired ? But no ! 
the gentle spirits of the night are pleased to soothe 
the wretched in their dreams, that all may not be 
total darkness with them. Ah ! [A noise without. 
[Tschekin and Vlassief suddenly awaking. 

Tsch. What can that be at this late hour ? 

Vlass. Ah what, indeed ? The ending of the 
chapter now I see — there was some reason for your 
fears, our heads are both at stake. 

Tsch. Aye, the injunction said, should an at- 
tempt be made to set the Prince at liberty, we must 
dispatch him, or our life's the forfeit. Oh ! is there 
not a hole through which to creep ? 

[The noise louder. 

Ivan. Dispatch him ! Do I hear right, can this 
be woman's thought ? 

Tsch. Defend me Heaven ! I will not stir in 
this, so let her take my life. [Noise louder. 

Mirov. [speaking without] Beat down the door, 
my friends. 

Vlass. Fire on them, Guards. 

Ivan. Who can this generous being be, who 
would deliver Ivan ? 

p 2 



212 THE TATE OF IVAN: 

Vlass, Your life, your life, good Ivan, is de- 
manded. 

Ivan. Hast thou no mercy ? 
Vlass. None will be shewn to me. 

[They begin to beat down the door. 

Ivan. I'll parry then thy blows, and save thee if 

I can, the crime of murder. So let the sins be on 

her head alone, whose guilty soul conceived the 

deadly thought. 

[Vlassief draws his sioord, and they contend — 

Tschekin covers his face, and retreats into a 

corner. The door begins to fall in — Ivan 

wrests the sword from Vlassief. 

Tsch. Pray Heaven they gain an entrance e'er 

he perish! 

[Vlassief seizes Tschekin's sword, Ivan wounds 

Vlassief in the arm; Ivan is wounded and 

falls. Vlassief binds up his arm which Ivan 

h ad wounded ; Ivan groans. 

Vlass. This is proof positive that I have fought 

for it. 

[The door falls, Mirovitch and his troops 
rush in, Mirovitch exclaims as he enters — 
Mirov. Ivan, be happy and be free ! 

[Mirovitch starts astonished on seeing Ivan ; 
the Soldiers utter a deep groan, and lower arms. 
Ivan. In a few moments, friends, I shall be free t 
Oh! Oh! 

Enter hastily Korf, trembling as he enters. 
Korf Oh Heaven ! What is't I see ? Is this 
the cause the guard had left my prison ? Oh horror ! 
Oh horror ! 

[Korf falls on his knee by the side of Ivan. 



A TRAGEDY. 213 

Ivan, [attempting to raise himself] Kind Heaven ! 
*tis then permitted me to die in thy paternal arms. 
Tschekin, thou hast been kind, I thank thee. Gene- 
rous friends, would Heaven I could have recom- 
pensed your zeal ! Oh Vlassief ! I do forgive. 
Tschekin farewell — take this request to Catharine, 

ask her to spare these valiant no, 'tis vain ; 

haste, save yourselves, and save the generous Korf. 
Farewell, generous friends. 

[Ivan embracing Korf. 

Korf. Alas, the hand of death already is upon 
me. 

Mirov. [to the Soldiers'] Save yourselves; I 
care not for my life, I will remain, and let my 
forfeit head now pay for all. [ The Soldiers groan. 

Ivan. "lis over ! All is over ! We shall be 
happy 

Korf. Ivan, and be free ! 

[Korf and Ivan both fall together* 

Omnes. Amen ! 



The curtain falls. 



MISS BETSY BULL; 



OR, 



THE JOHNNIES IN SPAIN. 



a JWelo^rama, in ©in** &ct$* 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Count Oviedo. 
Don Callanda. 
Don Sebastian. 
Vincent, a child. 
Valentia, a traveller. 
Rodrigo, an old servant. 
Sandino, servant to Callanda. 
Lopez, servant to the Count. 

Fishermen, sailors, dancers] fyc. 
Frio, a Gypsey robber. 
1st 2nd and 3rd Gypsey man. 



Donna Sebastian, wife to Don Sebastian. 

Leonora, their daughter. 

Mariana, her friend. 

1st 2nd and 3rd Gypsey woman. 

Men, women, and children, dancers, fyc. fyc. 



First Scene lies on the south side of Cadiz — view of 
the Forts Puntal, and Matagorda, which guard 
the entrance into the Harbour. Several rocks in 
the distance — the other Scenes are on the borders of 
Castile, Sfc. 



MISS BETSY BULL. 



ACT I. 



SCENE I. — The sea-shore — rocks at a distance — 
view of a figure on the rock, with a signal ; 
several men, women, and children, on the shore ; a 
boat passes with the Pilot, Lopez, Sandino, and 
Sailors. 

Omnes. HASTE, pilots ! haste! 

[Boat moving towards the rock on which is seen 
the figure. 
Children. Haste, good pilots, haste ! 

Men and women sing. 

Ah ! who can tell what fear is, 
Ah ! who can tell what joy ! 
Till they know what 'tis to save 
The fragile bark from being wreck'd, 
To save the sailor, from a wat'ry grave ! 

Omnes. He faints ! he faints ! haste, pilots, 
haste ! 

[The figure on the rock appeals to droop,, the 
boat reaches the rock, and one man from the 



218 MISS BETSY bull: 

boat ascends, and returns bearing the ship- 
wrecked person in his arms — a moment's 
silence ensues, as the man descends from the 
rock — the boat is seen returning, and the men 
and women begin to sing as it leaves the rock. 

Men and women sing. 

Now we hail the happy land ! 

The sight of all that's dear ; 
Wives, mothers, children, on the strand, 

We hear them ! we hear ! 

Welcome, Pilots ! welcome ! 

Ye guardians, angels, ye, 
Who bring us back our kindred, 

Oh, welcome ! ever welcome be ! 
Chorus. Welcome, welcome, ye ! 

[The boat approaches, and passes the stage, the 
crowd pursue with loud hurras, and " Wel- 
come ye /" which continue to be heard some 
moments. 

Enter Pilot, followed by Lopez, and Sandino, who 
bear in their arms the shipwrecked person ; part 
of the crowd follow in silence. 

Pilot. This way, friends, to my cottage ; Roddy 
shall make him up the best bed in all Spain. 

San.. And that, with a drop of cordial, will make 
him as brisk as young Sandino. 

[Exit Sandino, Lopez, and Sailors, bearing the 
person. 



A M ELO-DRAMA. 219 



Pilot sings. 

Who would not be a pilot ? 

A pilot bold to save 
The lovers, for the ladies waiting, 

Waiting for the brave ? 

Pilot. And now for the drop of cordial. 

[Singing as he goes out. 

A cordial for the brave ! [Exit Pilot, 

[A group that remain of metf, women, and 

children, dance a Spanisli dance ; a second 

group enter, as the others move off, and dance 

a different dance. [Exeunt. 



SCENE II. — The wreck of a vessel is seen, boats 
surrounding the wreck, some returning to the shore 
laden. 

Enter Pilot, who takes a basket from a boat by the 
shore, which he throws over his shoulder, singing. 

Pil. Who'll buy my fine fish, who'll buy ? 

I like to be a fisherman, a fisherman, do I, 

For myself, before I send to the market, 

I pick what I chuse to fry. 

You know, my dear, says my wife, 

What we send to the market 

People are not obliged to buy ; 



220 MISS BETSY BULL : 

And who ought to have the first choice 

Of all that is good 1 

Why, my wife, Rodina, and I ! 

If the nets should want mending, 

'Tis Roddy gives the stitch ; 

If there's nought in the market to fry, 

Then I'm sent on the wide sea, 

As if I were a witch, 

The little fish, and the great ones to spy. 

So who, should have the first choice 

Of all that is good ? 

Why, my wife, Rodina, and I ! 

Who'll buy my fine fish, who'll buy ? 

[Exit Pilot. 



SCENE III. — The inside of the Fisherman's hut. 
Valentia stretched and asleep. 

Enter the Fisherman, followed by Sandino. Fish- 
erman singing. 

Fisherman. I like to be a fisherman. 

San. Peace ! hast forgotten what lies there ? 

Fisherman. Why, sure Roddy has made the 
potion too strong for him. 

Val. [speaking in his sleep] To thee that future 
life I now devote. 

San, Thanks to my tackle, and my father's 
boat. 



A MELO-DRAMA. 221 

Fisherman. Ha, ha ! I see thou'rt thy father's 
own son, that cannot be silent when there's any- 
thing good to be said, 

San. Softly, he begins to move. 
Val. [awaking] My friends, I have slept well 
— I am quite refreshed. 

Fisherman. Aye, did I not tell your honour, that 
Dame Roddy's cordial, of her own making, was the 
finest thing in all Spain for composing troubled 
spirits. 

Val. Thank your bounty, generous strangers ; I 
feel I am quite revived by it ; I can proceed with- 
out delay — I trust I shall soon reach my native 
place ! 

San. But, Sir, I have something pleasant to say 
before you go, and I love, with all my soul, to say 
a pleasant thing — I am come from my master, Sir, 
and he wishes to know if there be anything in his 
house, anything in his purse 

Fisherman. Anything in his heart you are 
heartily welcome to, as if you were his own son. 

San. Hold your tongue, you can't speak at all, 
father. 

Val. But what does your master know of me, 
friend ? 

San. Oh, Sir, he knows your whole history. 

Fisherman. No ! goose-cap, he only knows that 
the gentleman has had the good fortune to be ship- 
wrecked within sight of old Sandino's boat — that's 
the way to make a speech. 
. San. And, Sir, you need no other recommenda- 



222 MISS BETSY bull: 

tion to gain the favour of his excellency, Don Cal- 
landa of Talavera, and my master. 

Val. Don Callanda of Talavera ! 

Fisherman. I dare say you have heard of the 
good man before ; every body knows him. 

Val. I have heard of him, and I sincerely thank 
him for his benevolent intentions ; but I have saved 
sufficient from the wreck to enable me to reach my 
native place, and there I am not poor — take this, 
my friends, till I can see you again and reward you. 
[Taking from a book a small piece of paper. 

Fisherman. I hope it a'n't money, I can't take 
any money for saving a sailor, or any other gentle- 
man from the sharks, I shall never catch another 
fish if I do. 

Val. It is a memorandum which will inform you 
who I am, Callanda will tell you how it may be 
used, and should you preserve any thing from the 
wreck, bearing this name upon it, you will keep it : 
we shall meet again. [Giving the paper. 

San. That's right, my dear boy, always look to 
the bright side. You will see my face again, de- 
pend upon it. Callanda shall spell all this for me. 
[Taking the paper and putting it in his pocket. 

Val. Do Thou, All-gracious Providence, who hast 
preserved me from the wreck in which so many of 
my hapless fellow-creatures have perished ; do thou 
vouchsafe to guide me on, preserve me to the end ; 
let me behold my father's house again ! Let me — 
but kind friends farewell, farewell. You shall hear 
from me. [Going. 

Fisherman. Aye do, my dear boy, drop us a line. 



A MELO-DRAMA. 223 

San. Farewell, and a pleasant journey to your 
honor. 

Val. Farewell, friends, and peace and prosperity 
attend you. [Exit Valentia. 

San. The same to your excellency, I wish you 
the same with all my heart. 

[Fisherman goes to a closet, and takes out a 
small bottle. 

Fisherman. Here, here, thou hast sent him off 
with fair words only, and who knows how far the 
poor fellow may have to travel, whether, indeed, he 
has got enough to carry him to his own land, or is 
but too modest to tell us his wants ; run after him, 
and make him pocket this. [Giving the bottle. 

[Sandino looking out of the window. 

San. I see him, I'll soon be after him. 

Fisherman. Sure the John Bulls have been long- 
enough in Spain to teach thee the use of a private 
bottle. [Exit hastily Sandino. 



Fisherman 



sings. 



Bless the ladies great and small ! 

Long may I be bold to save 
Lovers, for the beauties waiting, 

Waiting for the brave ! 

Now the dear angelic creatures 

Gathering round us, weep, and pray, 

Heaven preserve you ! Pilots, hasten ; 

Winds, and waves and all confounding, 
Still we hear them on the way ! 



224 MISS BETSY BULL Z 

Now they shower their blessings on us. 

Bless the pretty souls, I say 
Nought so sure as earnest prayers 

To save us in a stormy day ! 

Bless the ladies great and small ! 

Long may I be bold to save, 
For the beauties still in waiting 

All the faithful ! all the brave ! 

[Loud knocking at the door, and enter several 
men, women, and children. 
Men and women. Out with your boat again, 
Sandino, there are more poor fellows alive in the 
wreck. 

Pilot. Never a doctor in all Spain saves so 
many lives as my boat — so off we go ; lend a hand, 
friends. Bless the pilots great and small ! 
Omnes. Bless them all ! 

[Exeunt Pilot, men and women following. 



SCENE IV. — An Apartment. Count Oviedo 
putting on his boots, and admiring his legs as he 
draws them on. 

Count. Oh ! this indigestible pill ! would it 
were the fashion for individuals, as well as princes, 
to be married by proxy. I certainly have an elegant 
pair of legs, one of the numerous perfections, I 
presume that makes me so much admired by the 
ladies. Never was man so persecuted with the at- 
tentions of the other sex, it is quite a fatality 



A MELODRAMA. 225 

attending me ; three times, oh, Oviedo !• hast thou 
been on the very precipice of wedlock ! the last 
was, in truth, a narrow escape ; just as the priest 
pronounced the formidable words " Wilt thou have 
this woman ?" I very courageously took to my heels ; 
the damsel, all sympathy, fled in pursuit of me, but 
in vain, neither the prayers of the priest, nor the 
tears of the fair one, could prevail on me to return ; 
and yet here again I am once more, on the high 
road, and under the existing circumstances, what 
man so invited, would not summon resolution ? 
Youth, beauty, high rank, and wealth — what man 
would not ? How many at this moment are envy- 
ing Oviedo ! how many shall envy him still more 1 
Happy Oviedo ! already tingles in my ear ! 

Enter Callanda, overhearing the last words. 

Call, [apart] Ho, ho, the tune is changed, I 
find : I have got a most difficult commission — it ap- 
pears you have some very agreeable speculation, 
Count? 

Oviedo. On the contrary : — but it is time, my dear 
fellow, I apprise you of the real business which 
leads me to take this journey. 

Call. Very good — I'm all attention. 

Oviedo. You are perfectly well acquainted with 
the all-accomplished Leonora ? 

Call. The only daughter of Don Sebastian, and, 
probably, sole heiress to his immense possessions. 

Oviedo. Whom I am invited, in the most flatter- 
ing way, to marry. [Conceitedly. 
Q 



226 MISS BETSY bull: 

Call. And you, of course, are all eagerness to 
set off. 

Oviedo. [shrugging up his shoulders'] Why, as 
to that, I cannot say ; it has ever been my fate, on 
going on such an expedition, to be seized with an 
invincible inclination to return. Did you not hear 
of the last affair which befel me ? 

Call. I do recollect ; but the family of Don 
Sebastian being in question, it is not to be sup- 
posed 

Oviedo. Why, as to that, the lady is certainly 
charming, possessed of every good quality that can 
possibly adorn the sex ; yet it appears to me, that a 
man is not always master of his actions, and 

Call. Come, come, Count, let me advise you 
not wantonly to throw away the superior fortune 
now offered you ; how many dukes in Spain would 
rejoice to be in your situation — you are assured I 
cannot have any interest in the business, if I plead 
for the ladies. 

Oviedo. You are honored and dignified in the 
cause. 

Call. Is this a match of the father's proposing ? 

Oviedo. In the first instance, perhaps ; but soon 
as I was introduced to the daughter, she fell pas- 
sionately in love with me. 

Call. What makes you imagine that ? How 
does she betray that deep interest ? 

Oviedo. She blushes when I address her, some- 
times turns pale; she starts, trembles; she cannot 
answer me a single question ; in short 

Call. I should interpret all these symptoms, 



A MELO-DRAMA. 22? 

proofs of confirmed hatred, horror, aversion, con- 
tempt, preference for some other ! 

Ovkdo. Ho, ho, ho ! what a novice thou art ! 
horror ! contempt ! aversion ! [looking at himself] 
the man is mad to be sure. 

Call. You may laugh, but I am still very in- 
credulous. 

Oviedo. Never woman in this world was so 
enamoured, the dear creature frequently writes me 
six epistles for one. 

Call. She certainly thinks you very much in need 
of good advice ; she has some charitable motive for 
doing it, she imagines her letters will interest and 
employ you, that they will keep 

Oviedo. Me from the devil I suppose. 

Call. Exactly so. 

Oviedo. My dear fellow, I see you know nothing 
of the human heart, all these things are every-day 
occurrences with me. 

Call. Well, well, be it so then ; I recommend 
you at least, for this once, to take advantage of your 
good fortune, and, above all things, let us not delay 
setting off, official business demands my immediate 
presence in that neighbourhood, and we ought to 
reach Bianchellino before Don Sebastian. 

Oviedo. Such an arrival, I presume, would be 
expected of the intended spouse of Leonora. 

Call. I suppose a priest will accompany the 
family. 

Oviedo. Don't mention it, pray, there is some- 
thing in that very word which inclines me to decamp. 
a 2 



228 MISS BETSY bull: 

Call. I shall give my final orders and depart. 

[Exit Callanda. 
Oviedo. And I believe I am quite ready to ac- 
company you. I suppose I must go, and myself be 
witness of the very tears I feel I shall have to 
occasion. Now where is that honest dog Lopez ? 

[Rings. 

Enter Lopez. 

Am I ready, Lopez ? 

Lopez. Yes, my lord, you are, but I am not. 

Oviedo. Begone, then, and see that you are pre- 
pared in three minutes. 

Lopez. Five, please your Lordship. [Going. 

Oviedo. And hear me, charge my best pistols, 
and take another pair under your own care. 

Lopez. What, are we going to be robbed or 
murdered, my Lord ? 

Oviedo. Going to the devil ; make haste, I say. 

Lopez. There needs be no such hurry-scurry in 
going there, methinks. [Exit hastily Lopez. 

Oviedo. There goes an original, who scarcely 
knows if his head stands on his shoulders or his 
haunches, and yet, I presume, can occasionally 
correct me. But let me consider, what else shall I 
require ? Oh ! my case of cordials, that will be 
above all things necessary. Poor Leonora! thou 
little dreamest of the disappointment about to await 
thee ! Poor girl, poor girl ! Upon my soul I can- 
not help pitying her. 



A MELO-DRAMA. 22Q 



lie- enter Lopez. 

Lopez. All ready, my Lord, I have tied up my 
portmanteau. 

Oviedo. That's right, I like dispatch. {Exit 
Lopez] Poor Leonora ! [Exit Count Oviedo. 



SCENE V. — An Apartment. — Bon Sebastian, 
Donna Sebastian. 

Don. Seb. Madam, madam, I will not hear any 
more of the Count's eccentricities — according to the 
common understanding, every one who possesses 
any superiority must be eccentric. But I do not 
wish my daughter to marry any of your common- 
place characters, and let me tell you, he who dares 
not to deviate from the track beaten by the vulgar, 
can have no pretension to merit, can never gain any 
distinction. 

Donna Seb. But is it not an objection which 
ought to supersede all others, that Leonora dislikes 
him above all the world ? 

Don Seb. Dislikes him ! pshaw ! it is quite im- 
possible ; is he not young, handsome, elegant, ac- 
complished, witty, of high rank ? in short the very 
man whom all women particularly admire ? 

Donna Seb. All vain and frivolous women, 
perhaps. 

Don Seb. Besides, I am in some degree indiffer- 
ent as to whether she likes him or not ; I am not at 
all afraid of their future happiness. 



230 MISS BETSY bull: 

Donna Seb. Alas, alas ! I see I am likely to be 
deprived of both my children ! 

Don Seb. Madam, you know my determination is 
to marry Leonora immediately ; how should I an- 
swer to myself should some ignoble villain tear her 
from my arms, and with Leonora's fortune, inde- 
pendent of her beauty, a misfortune so overwhelm- 
ing is to be feared. Chance, an accident, fatality, call 
it what you will, has deprived me of one child, it 
shall be my especial care to prevent any thing of a 
similar nature bereaving me of the other. 

Donna Seb. I am satisfied there is no hope. 

Don Seb. No, indeed, there is no hope; you 
cannot now unite your daughter to the son of the 
exiled Alvarez, since they are both at peace in the 
same grave. 

Donna Seb. And now that they can no longer 
offend you with their misfortunes, you will perhaps 
allow that the father's fame was most honorably 
cleared of every aspersion. 

Don Seb. No, I cannot allow that ; for in my 
mind, the fame that has once been blistered, always 
retains a scar. 

Donna Seb. You are too cruel. 

Don Seb. Prepare my daughter for the Count's 
arrival ; I expect he will use all diligence to meet 
us at my villa ; perhaps we may all arrive at the 
same instant. In the mean time I shall order a 
strong guard, for we have a very dangerous road to 
pass. 

Donna Seb. Oh Leonora ! how hard is your 
fate. [Exit Donna Sebastian. 



A MELO-DRAMA. 231 

Don Seb. How silly are those women ! how 
diligently do they always persuade themselves that 
happiness is quite independent of all circumstantial 
aid, of all the gifts of fortune ; this comes of reading 
French romances, and tales of knight-errantry — 
howbeit I shall not rest till I have put all these 
sickly fancies out of my daughter's head, and that 
by uniting two of the noblest and most ancient 
families in Spain. [Exit Don Sebastian. 



SCENE VI. — The entrance into a Wood; Leonora 
disguised as a Student of Salamanca — Mariana. 

Leon. It is for you, dear Mariana, the painful 
task, to apprise my mother of my final determina- 
tion, and of the route I have taken — to bid her 
farewell — perhaps an eternal farewell — no, I cannot 
— I know my heart, my resolution would fail me. 
Soothe, then, her anxiety, assure her of my safety, 
persuade her, as I hope reason may return to my 
father, that we may soon meet again ! 

Mar. But dear Leonora, can you really confide 
in the Abbess ? May she not inform your father of 
your retreat ? 

Leon. Sooner, I am convinced, she would allow 
me to take the veil. 

Mar. Ah ! beware of that ! Remember you 
cannot be Oviedo's wife, though dragged to the 
very foot of the altar. You could even there claim 
the protection of the priest, and appeal against the 
cruelty and injustice of the proceeding. 



232 MISS BETSY bull: 

Leon. Ah ! but to proceed so far, to be obliged 
to be arrayed in bridal pomp, to see Oviedo at 
my side, to approach the altar, to be so near the 
brink of what I consider all moral destruction ; I 
shudder at the bare perspective ! I feel I might be 
tempted to some fatal purpose ; it is to avoid the 
temptation that I fly, my senses bewildered at the 
moment, might lead me to question which were the 
greater crime ! 

Mar. I promise, and will keep my word. But 
were I you, I would write the Count a letter before 
I went away ; tell him that you hate him with all 
your heart and soul, and beg him to remain just 
where he is, and then if that experiment fail, you 
would still have the Convent of La Guarda. 

Leon. And where should I be if the letter were 
never to reach him, and if he were to persist, even 
after receiving it ? No, no, my determination can- 
not be shaken. Ha ! what noise is that ? 

Mar. [looking out] Be composed, it is old 
Rodrigo — you can fully depend upon his integrity ? 

Leon. As on my own ; my foster-father, who, 
perhaps, may offend Heaven by his idolatry of me. 

Mar. But I fear his age, and the banditti which 
infest the roads. All Spain is in commotion, not- 
withstanding the many Johnnies who are come to 
our assistance ; indeed I am not without fear of 
your being attacked by some of their hovering com- 
panies, you might be taken for some spy in disguise. 

Leon. I fear nothing but to be wedded to one I 
hate, whilst I consider myself in honor and reason, 
the wife, the widow of another. I promised, 



A MELO-DRAMA, 235 

sacredly promised you, Alfonso, never, never to 
marry another, and though you cease to exist, I do 
not live to forget. 

Enter Rodrigo, equipped for travelling. 

Rod. An' please my young master, all is ready, 
and the sooner we depart the better. My wife is to 
drown me to-night in the river, and, I suppose, my 
body is not to be found, nor allowed Christian burial, 
now if I should happen to die twice on the same 
night, it will be an odd story. 

Leon. Courage, my good friend, Heaven will 
preserve the faithful ! 

Mar. Dear Rodrigo, I have a thousand fears, 
are you well acquainted with the roads, and with the 
parts which the Banditti most infest ? 

Rod. The lady banditte, I think, will be the 
most ready to attack us, I and my young master 
will, I doubt not, make sad havoc in their 
hearts. 

Leon. Ah, what do you think of that, Mariana ? 

Mar. I do think the dress is mighty becoming, 
and that there is some reason for Rodrigo's ap- 
prehensions. 

Leon. Farewell — console my mother — I still 
hope much from Don Callanda's efforts with the 
Count. 

Mar. And he knows the united wishes of three 
poor disconsolate women ! 

Rod. It almost makes me cry, and yet I had a 
fine dream last night. 



234 MISS BETSY bull: 

Mar. Stop, Rodrigo, one word of advice to you 
—be sure you do not enter into any contention with 
the John Bulls, if you should meet any ; always 
endeavour to make friends of them, Rodrigo, for 
you must have heard what wonderful creatures these 
Johnnies are. 

Rod. Ah, yes, indeed ! I have heard my great 
grand-dame say, that there was one Miss Betsy Bull, 
that blew up the grandest fleet that ever Spain sent 
forth — A woman ! so what may be expected from 
the master Johnnies ? 

Leon. Let us haste, Rodrigo, [looking out] the 
very breeze that agitates the leaves, alarms my fears, 
I mistake every sound for the approach of footsteps 
— farewell! [Embracing Mariana. 

Mar. And may good angels guard you ! 

Rod. Farewell to my wife ; alack-a-day, the 
mules are at this corner. 

{Exit Leonora and Rodrigo. 

Mar. To-morrow morning, Don Sebastian will 
learn he has lost his daughter ; we must make him 
sleep as late as we can, otherwise she will be pur- 
sued to the very gates of the convent. Well, I do 
hope that Leonora may meet with some charming 
knight-errant on the way, who may make her repent 
of her vows of eternal celibacy. It is all very well 
to hate the Count Oviedo, but then not to like any 
body else in this world, is what I do not under- 
stand, and what I am sure I do not wish to learn ; 
heigh ho ! I still seem to expect some comical ad- 
venture, some gallant knight will be attacking or 
defending the young student — the whole story will 



A MELO-DRAMA. 235 

be discovered, and then it follows, as a matter of 
course, that Leonora becomes interested in her 
preserver, and I shall not be surprised if she should 
be married the day after myself ; and yet she is in 
a strange contrary mind at present. [Sings. 

A lady there was lost her lover, 

I hope that will ne'er be my fate, 
For, perhaps, I might not find another, 

All the world knows the chances are great ! 

This was not the case with this lady, 
Away from them all she would go, 

And from one, too, a handsome young lord, 
Why, I don't think that I could do so. 

'Tis a fine thing, indeed, to be constant, 

But when a man dies, it is plain, 
If you hear the soft tale of another, 

He cannot come back to complain. 

[Exit Mariana. 



END OF ACT I. 



236 MISS BETSY bull: 



ACT II. 



SCENE I.— A Forest Scene, moonlight. Valen- 
tia sleeping under a tree. 

Enter Frio, a gypsey man. 

Frio. Bad luck! no game all night — nought but 
a capon all day ; I shall make a sorry appearance 
amongst the company. 

Val. [sighing] [Frio starts. 

Frio. Ha, mercy ! what can that be ? 

Val. Oh ! I have slept most soundly ; [awaking] 
but how I could so far have lost my way, and been 
here benighted, I know not ; it would seem a 
perverse interruption — a day, an hour's delay, in the 
scale of destiny ; how important, how fatal may 
they be ! but shall I complain ? preserved through 
so many dangers; reposing confidence should be 
my staff. 

Frio, [advances towards him] I think you say, 
Sir, you have slept very soundly ; I am very glad to 
hear it, Sir, and now I recommend you to pay for 
your lodging : [Valentia looking surprised] you 
would not go away, like a sorry dog, in debt — your 
money instantly, young man ! 

Val. I carry very little of that about me. 



A MELODRAMA. 237 

Frio. It is certain, however, that people cannot 
travel about in this world without it, and you, Sir, I 
am well assured have lost your way, or you would 
not be reposing in this particular spot — your mule, I 
suppose, has been stolen, too, for there is not one to 
be seen near you ; but out with your money, I 
cannot wait, time flies. 

Val. If you are in distress, and half of the little 

I possess will content you 

Frio. No, Sir ! no halvings, I have got nothing- 
all day — your money, instantly ! 

Val. No ! then a wretch induced by necessity 
only would never be so far rapacious ; [apart] if 
I lose this, I am again shipwrecked. 

Frio. If you will not give, I must take. 

[Frio begins to wrestle with Valentia ; Frio, 
in the struggle, falls, and Valentia makes 
his escape. Frio, quickly rising, pursues 
Valentia — the report of pistols is heard, 
and a groan succeeds. 



SCENE II. — A Gypseys Hovel represents a Cave. 
Cliff rising perpendicularly above the group ; 
several men, women, and children, seated round a 
jire, some eating, some drinking, some singing. 

1st Man. 

Come fill the sparkling glass again, 
'Tis night, and pleasure's festive reign ! 
Each man's a subject, each a king ! 



238 MISS BETSY bull: 

Chorus. 

Oh, the merry merry lives of gypsies sing ! 

2nd Man. 

Peace ! there are horses trampling near, 
Conceal your lights, ^tis wise to fear ! 

[They cover the fire ; a silence of a few 
moments — the wind, and the rustling of 
leaves, is heard. 

1st Woman. 

Your fears are fools ! 'tis but the rain 

That beats upon the thirsty plain, 

And with the dead leaf strews the ground ; 

What music's in the rustling sound ! 

Oh ! I could ever, ever listen ! 
3rd Man. 

Silence, all ! a foot is nigh, 

Silence, till it passes by. 

[Silence of a few minutes, a man and a woman 
are seen to walk fearfully along the top of 
the cliff. 

3rd Woman. 

Such is your ever boasted joy. 

2nd Man. 

Good wife, what state's without alloy ? 

3rd Woman. 

Tho' you scorn your country's laws, 
And sing of bolder freedom's cause, 
Slaves, you live, to servile fear, 
The breath of day is danger here ! 



A MELO-DRAMA. 239 

1st Mai?. 

Well, I am king ! and my decree 

Is this, that all who dare to rail at me 

And my good laws, shall banished be ! 

Omnes. Bravo ! 
1st Man. 

I'll have no scorpions in the state, 
To sting the good, and bite the great ; 
I say I'm king ! and king I'll be, 
The world is wide, and you are free ! 

Omnes. 

Oh ! 'tis a happy thing to be, 
Like the merry merry gypsies, free ! 

1st Man. 

So, chuse your path, nor dare again 
To bring into contempt our reign ; 
Such rebel spirits shall not share 
With better men my royal care ; 
Enough of mercy ^tis I shew, 
To give you freely leave to go. 
More were pernicious ; doctors all agree 
That summer suns may pestilence increase: 
Who crops the evil in its birth, may hope to 
find it cease ! 

Chorus. 

" Long live our noble king !" 
Oh ! 'tis a happy state to be, 
Like the merry merry gypsies, free ! 

3rd Woman. 

Sure, one might speak without so much ado, 
I'm as content as other folks, I trow ! 



240 MISS BETSY bull: 

1st Woman. 

Away with discord, cheer the night, 
Where's Castel, Blanco, Frio, Sprite? 

2nd Man. 

We'll drink to Frio. 

1st Man. 

Here's to Frio — he is brave ! 

Omnes. To Frio, all. 

1st Woman. 

But t'other day a cheese he brought 
Large as my head, with maggots fraught ! 

2nd Woman. 

Aye, that is truth, thou hast well said, 

'Twas filled with maggots, like thy crazy head ! 

1st Man. 

Thou ever wert, old Peg, a witty lass, 
Here's to thy cheese, and thee, another glass ! 

3rd Man. 

Oh ! 'tis a happy thing to be, 
Like the merry merry gypsies, free ! 

[A report of pistols is heard. 

Enter hastily Valentia, pursued by Frio. 

Frio. Seize on him, gentlemen, he would have 
taken my life. 

[As they are rising to seize on Valentia, a 

great noise of firing approaches, on which they 

all take flight, one child excepted, who is 

sleeping on the ground. 

Val. 'Sdeath, where am I ? Ha, 'tis a gypsey's 



A 5IELO-DRAMA. 241 

hovel ! which way shall I turn 1 [looks about and 
starts] Merciful Providence, what do I see ? here 
is a child left behind them in their haste ; perhaps, 
too, the child of some despairing' mother — what can 
it be ? [approaches it] Can it be indeed possible ? 
do I dream ? is it a delusive resemblance? No, no, 
no ! it is, it is he ! [taking the child in his 
arms] Be calm, my heart ! sleep on, blest innocent. 
Do Thou, All-guiding Providence ! do Thou direct 
me to the path of safety — preserve me, oh I preserve 
me this night from every farther danger ! See, it is 
not for myself that I ask for thy protection; look on 
this helpless, this unoffending, this precious charge! 
[Exit hastily Valentia, carrying the child. 
Soldiers on a distant mountain seen passing. 

Re-enter a Man and a Woman belonging to the Gyp- 
sies, they look fearfully about them. 

3rd Woman. What can have become of the 
child ? he was sleeping here. 

Man. Most like he followed us, and is now in 
the crowd. 

3rd Woman. If I should quit your honorable 
company, 'tis my determination to take him with 
me, if I can find him. 

[A distant cannonading is heard. 

Man. We had best make our escape. 

3rd Woman. Thou need'st not fear, His nothing 
but the Johnnies fighting with one another about 
their sweethearts ; my opinion of them is, that they 
like to fight each other as well as their enemies. 

R 



242 MISS BETSY bull: 

Man. I have picked up all that I see worth 
taking, so I'm off. 

3rd Woman. Ah, ha ! dost see — that is some- 
thing like the lad that fought with Frio, and, if I 
mistake not, he has the boy in his arms. 

[Valentia seen in the distance on a mountain. 

Man. I dare say he is one of the Bulls, for he 
seems to be going towards the soldiers. 

[Noise of arms louder. 

3rd Woman. Then, sooth, I will not follow him 
there. 

Man. Pll be content to save myself, and, if 
thou'rt wise, thou'lt do the same ; thou hast heard of 
Miss Betsy Bull. [Noise louder. 

3rd Woman. In truth, I think she is coming 
again. 

[E.vit hastily Gypsies, Man carrying basket. 



SCENE III. — A Forest Scene, mountains, fyc. 

Enter Valentia, leading Vincent, moonlight. 

Val. Come, come, do not tremble, sweet in- 
nocent ! [child looks fearfully about] We have 
escaped them, they will not pursue us farther ; if 
they do, we must fly to the English. 

Vin. And who are the English ? 

Val. The friends of humanity ! the friends of 
every nation in distress ! and now fighting for us. 

Vin. Ah ! let us fly to them, then. [Going. 



A MKLO-DItAMA. 243 

Val. But this way, I suspect, will lead us home ; 
yonder some of the English are encamped — banish 
all fear — I will restore you to the arms of your 
mother. 

Vin* Will you indeed, and indeed? then you 
are a true friend, and I have often, very often said 
my prayers to find such a friend, and now kind- 
Heaven has heard me ! 

Val. His ears are always open to the prayers of 
the good. 

Vin. Look out there — are those the brave Eng- 
lish ? [Soldiers seen on a distant mountain. 

Val. Yes, that way lies the English encamp- 
ment ; let us proceed. 

Vin. And are you very sure I shall not be lost 
again ? 

Val. Will not that kind Providence that directed 
me to find you, still protect us on the way ? 

Vin. Oh, yes ! he will, he will ! and I will pray 
again and again, that he may preserve your life, and 
that you may see my dear mama ; but, perhaps, she 
is dead, sometimes I have dreamt so, and then I 
wished I was dead, too, my heart was so sad ! 

Val. Fear nothing, my good child ; I dare 
believe she still lives. 

Yin. And when I tell her a friend saved me, 
what must I say if she asks his name. 

Val. A friend without a name is often the best 
of friends. 

Vin. Ah ! but she will not be pleased with me 
if I cannot tell her yours. 

Val. My name is Valentia. 
ii 2 



244 MISS BETSY bull: 

Vin. Dear, kind Valentia ! [the report of arms 
at a distatice~\ that noise does not make me tremble 
now ; I have heard of guardian angels, and I believe 
that you are one. [Embracing him. 

VaL Sweet cherub ! Heaven will watch over 
us ; we will climb that mountain, and on the other 
side. we shall find an inn. [Noise louder. 

Vin. And if the gypsies come after us, we will 
fire upon them and frighten them away. 

[Exit Valentia, leading Vincent, they 
ascend a mountain. 



SCENE IV. — A Forest, and Mountains in the 

distance — Moonlight. 

Enter Rodrigo leading two Mules, which he fastens 
to a tree, — Leonora seating herself. 

Leon. Oh Rodrigo ! I faint with this quick tra- 
velling ; I wish I had taken your advice and 
stopped at the last inn — the dread of being pursued 
has made me proceed too far. 

Rod. Aye, but my dear master, they would never 
think of pursuing this road, and nobody could know 
either you or I — but do lean against that tree, try to 
take a little nap. 

Leon. I am already overpowered with sleep. 

Rod. I will keep watch at this corner, and the 
mules may browse a little at that. 

Leon. Do you think we are safe here ? 

[She leans against a tree. 



A MELO-DRAMA. 245 

Rod. Ah! dear me, there is no protection like 
poverty, and travelling like two poor fellows as we 
are, I trust we shall not be disturbed. [Leon oh a falls 
asleep] Ah ! that's right, go to sleep, that's a dear boy; 
for my own part, now I am all alone, I can hardly 
help crying. What will become of me if any mis- 
fortune should befal him? — [looking out cautiously] 
— and at the best I know not how I must re- 
turn to this world, that is what has never been once 
thought of; my wife must be a widow, or, for any- 
thing I know, my boat, and my wife, and my cot 
may fall to the lot of some of the Johnnies, who 
are now swarming in Spain ; and for me to attempt 
to fight them, after the story that I learnt from my 
grandame Miss Betsy Bull, I cannot do it, and, 
therefore, I cannot help crying, I cannot ! 

[Valentia is seen descending a mountain with 
Vincent in his arms; some persons ap- 
pear to pursue him ; the flash of a pistol, the 
fire reaches Valentia ; he arrives at the 
foot of the mountain and sits down ; he binds 
his arm. Rodrigo on perceiving him, puts 
himself in an attitude of defence, and takes 
out a pistol; Valentia groans slightly, 
Rodrigo returns the groan. 
Vin. Dear Valentia, you will not die. 
Val. No, no, fear nothing, it is but a scratch. 
Rod. I am sure he is a gentleman, I am not 
frightened now, he speaks like a good man. 

Val. What have we here ? a traveller, and asleep 
too, apparently a student of Salamanca ; and who 
are you, my friend ? 



246 MISS BETSY bull: 

Rod. Sir, I beg your honor's pardon, but that is 
my mistr— master ; we have travelled rather too 
far without resting, he's a very delicate youth, and 
being very eager to reach the end of his journey, 
has come too many miles at a stretch. Pray take 
care not to disturb him, Sir. 
Val. Oh ! not for the world. 
Vin. We will help to guard you. 
Leon, [speaking in her sleep] Could you at this 
moment read my heart, this faithful heart ! 

Val. [starts in amazement, and unconsciously 
grasps the arm of Rodrigo] What is that ? From 
whence did that voice proceed ? 

Rod. Oh ! lud, lud ! Sir, don't be frightened, 
it is only my young master, he often talks in his 
sleep, no robbers here just now, I'll keep watch. 

Vin. Dear Valentia, I fear your arm is very 
painful. 

Val. My brain's bewildered ! that fever has not 
yet left me ; let me listen again, I deceive myself. 

Rod. You do, my dear fellow, we are all angels 
about you. 

Leon. Tell him all that I have suffered, tell 
him. 

Val. Where am I ? Do my senses forsake me ? 
I tremble ! Am I really in existence, on earth ? 

[ Beating h is for eh ead. 
Vin. Good old man ! what shall we do ? he is 
very ill. 

Leon, [ivaking] Oh ! Rodrigo, what noise was 
that ? 

Rod. Nothing, nothing ! my good master ! all 



A MELO-DRAMA. 247 

friends about us ; two gentlemen, travellers exactly 
like ourselves, and they will help us to fight. 

Yin. That we will, indeed, Sir, don't be afraid. 

Val. This wound maddens me ! Oh ! torture 
inexpressible ! but I must be ■ 

Leon. Alas, I hope we shall arrive soon. 

Vin. This gentleman has saved my life, and I am 
sure he will fight for you. [Approaching Leonora. 

Leon. [?'ising] You ! who are you, sweet cherub ? 
Oh ! what do I see ? What is your name ? quickly 
tell me. 

Vin. Vincent Sebastiano ; I was stolen by the 
gypsies, and it is he, that good gentleman, who has 
saved me, and who is taking me home to my dear 
mother, my father, and my sister. 

Leon. It is, it is himself ! my long lost brother ! 
[Embracing him. 

Rod. Oh ! dear, dear ! we shall all be found 
out, I cannot help crying ! 

Vin. What, and have I a brother ? how is this ? 
say, Valentia ? 

Val. Oh! strange fate! wonder-working Pro- 
vidence ! [apart] Be calm my heart ! 

Leon. What have I said ? 

Rod. All friends — take courage. 

Vin. Tell me, good old man ! how is this ? I 
never knew I had a brother. I had a sister, and I 
think, indeed, I think this gentleman must be 
Leonora, she calls me brother, and speaks so 
sweetly. Oh ! I do remember you ! 

[Throwing Ms arms round her neck. 

Rod. Oh ! lud, lud ! we are all discovered ! 



248 MISS BETSY bull: 

Val. Rapturous moment ! 

Leon. Oh Rodrigo ! I am lost for ever ! One 
of the most seemingly fortunate events, has per- 
versely ruined, perhaps, all my projects. 

Vin. Dear sister, be not afraid, tell me, shall I 
see my dear dear mother very soon, is she near us ? 
or are we still very far from home ? 

[Leonora retiring in confusion. 

Leon. Alas ! I cannot speak ! 

Rod. Do not say any more at present, my dear 
boy. [Speaking softly to Valentia. 

Vin. [to Valentia] Tell Leonora you will 
take care of her as well as me, speak to her kindly, 
she seems afraid. 

Val. Surprise has made me silent, [approaching 
Leonora] Can you, then, fear to be betrayed by 
the guardian, the deliverer of that child ? Would 
he who has risked his life to save the brother, not 
shed the last drop of his blood to preserve the sister 
from every danger ? wounded, suffering, and in 
affliction, my heart, my arm, shall be strong to 
protect you from all approach of evil. 

Rod. Ah ! my dear mistress, I am sure we are 
all friends well met, and Don Wollentia will help us 
to the end of our journey. 

Val. To the most remote corner of the earth, if 
that were your destination ! 

[Vincent takes hold of Leonora's cloak, ap- 
pearing to draw her towards Valentia. 

Leon. Generous stranger ! I know not how to 
thank you ; I cannot, no, I cannot ! 

Val. Your secret is safe with me, as in the 



A MELODRAMA. 249 

bosom of the ocean — could he be man that could 
betray you at such an hour. 

Leon. Ah ! but to be called upon to place a con- 
fidence in one to whom I am a total stranger, who 
is equally unknown to me ; how can I reconcile all 
this ? Alfonso, what would you say ? Is it not an 
offence, an injury to your esteem ? and tho', indeed, 
you cease to exist 

Val. Cease to exist ! What do I hear ? 

[Agitated. 

Leon. Stranger ! my tale is short ! I am ac- 
quainted with the Abbess of the Convent of La 
Guarda ; I fly to her for shelter and protection — 
this old man, my foster-father, attends me on the 
way, and my disguise is intended as a second pro- 
tection. 

Rod. Yes, this is" all true, as I hope to see my 
wife again. 

Vin. Don't cry, good old man. 

Rod. My dear boy, I cry for joy, to think you 
are found again, and that we have another guard for 
our travels. 

Val. But from what tyranny, what oppression 
do you fly 1 [apart] Oh ! I am very ill. 

Leon. Can I, indeed, go on ? 

Val. Some urgent cause there must be. 

Leon. Alas, Sir ! it is not, perhaps, for you to 
judge my heart — you, perhaps, cannot guess the 
tortures of a mind under such circumstances. It is 
my misfortune — misfortune, did I say? no! my 
pride, my glory to have been betrothed to one 



250 MISS BETSY bull: 

whom every sentiment of honor, reason, and re- 
ligion have taught me to reverence and esteem — 
whose adversity endeared him doubly to me, whose 
injuries I have felt as my own ; whose respect I 
valued next to Heaven — whose death I mourn 
eternally ! 

Val. His death ! indeed, this is too much ! 

[Appealing very much agitated. 

Leon. But my story distresses you 

Val. May I intreat you to proceed. 

Leon. My father, I spare him ; I fly to avoid his 
will — an odious marriage with the Count Oviedo ! 
[Rodrigo and Vincent talk apart. 

Val. Oh ! 'tis madness ! 'tis — pardon me, but 
indeed I feel your misfortunes — I do severely feel 
them. 

Leon. You said you were in affliction ; yet I am 
sorry if my tale should revive your griefs — but be 
composed, you see I am comparatively calm ; the 
thought of having escaped this, as I trust, this last 
calamity, has given to my very grief a new character 
— has sanctified my sorrow — has made me look 
forward to my retreat in the Convent of La Guarda, 
as to a temporary rest on the road to Heaven. 

Val. Blessed escape ! I dare believe you will 
reach unmolested to that happy shelter— fear nothing. 

Leon. But, should farther persecution pursue 
me, I have still one resource ; — I can take the veil. 

Val.. [starts] Ah ! beware of that ! but now it 
is time we seek some other shelter — this child must 
soon require rest — we must cross the mountain. 



A MELODRAMA. 251 

Vin. Now, dear brother, fear nothing, we will all 
fight for you. 

Leon. Heaven will guard your inocence ! 

Rod. I believe I shall see my wife again, I 
cannot help crying. 

Val. Lean on my arm ; that All-seeing Pro- 
vidence who watches unceasingly over the virtuous, 
will spread his sacred iEgis round you, no danger 
shall approach you. [Leonora takes his arm. 

Rod. Now must I see after the mules. 

Leon. Forgive, Alfonso, if I take the protection 
of a stranger to aid me to preserve my life, to devote 
it eternally to you ! [Going. 

Val. To be the protector of the injured ! of 
celestial innocence ! oh, moment that repays me for 
a world of suffering ! 

Leon. Oh, Alfonso ! were you but alive and here 
now. 

Val. Was he not the son of the noble and 
greatly-injured lord Alvarez ? 

Leon. It is true ! but spare me farther ! 

Rod. Now, my dear friends, the mules are ready 
there ; come, my brave boy. 

[Taking Vincent by the hand. 
Vin. Take courage, sister ; brother, I mean. 
Val. The sky is clouded, but the storm will soon 
pass. [Exeunt. 



END OF ACT II. 



252 MISS BETSY BULL : 



ACT III. 



SCENE I. — A Forest Scene. A shattered Cottage, 
Valenti a seated against the door — Rodrigo near 
him, Mules, 8<;c. — a storm; the thunder is heard, 
and the lightning succeeds. 



Rod. Oh, dear me ! I cannot help crying ; to be 
sure, if we had not missed our way, we should not 
have been overtaken by the storm. 

Val. Courage, my good Rodrigo, this will not 
last more than two minutes ; I am so well ac- 
quainted with the seasons, I can foretell with ease 
fine weather or the contrary ; thank kind fate, our 
youthful travellers are completely sheltered. 

Rod. Ah ! indeed I am thankful, and sure, there 
would not have been any harm if we had been in- 
side also. \a loud report of pistols is heard, and 
voices'] Oh ! lud, lud ! so we are only getting rid 
of one thunder, to be beset with another. 

Val. There may be noise without danger — all 
Spain is in commotion. 

A voice without. This way, friends, I am per- 
suaded the villain fled into this covert. 

[Vale ntt a rises hastily, and takes his pistols. 

Rod. [speaking through a crevice into the cot] 
Keep still, my dear boys, it is nothing but the mules 



A MLLO-DRAMA. 253 

grumbling at the thunder— don't be afraid, we are 
quite awake, and Don Wollentia has all his pistols 
safe. 

Val. Peace ! some one approaches. 

Enter hastily Don Callanda, followed by 
Servants, 8$c. 

Cal. I think my fire must have reached him, and 
certainly this must be he with his arm bound. 

[Approach big Valentia. 

Val. You mistake your object, Sir. 

Call. But I followed some one down the moun- 
tain into this very covert, and your being wounded, 
and in this particular spot, seems 

Val. Seems ! indeed you judge too rashly ; I 
have been robbed, as you, perhaps, have been ; and 
not impossible, — perhaps the very same hand may 
have attacked both ; however that may be, I strug- 
gled to defend myself, and thus received this 
wound. 

Rod. And that's all true, as I hope to. see my 
wife again. 

Call. Well, Sir, I beg your pardon if I have un- 
justly accused you, but allow me to be fully con- 
vinced, by looking into this cottage, the entrance of 
which you appear to guard so very closely. 

Val. Look there ? no, no ! my boy, perhaps, 
sleeps — you may disturb him —if the word of a 
gentleman is not sufficient, my arm, my honor, and 
my life shall protect the pass ! 

Call. Ah, indeed ! so much ardour, and for a 



254 MISS BETSY BULL I 

boy ! one might think there was a lady in the case ; 
but, however [Attempting to go. 

Rod. It is, indeed, a boy, upon my honor — you 
ought to believe two gentlemen. 

Call. I will believe, only let me be assured, that 
I may not attack any other person unjustly, I will 
proceed very gently, I will not disturb him, 

[Attempting to go in. 

Val. Villain, stand off, or your life pays the 
forfeit ■! [Valentia draws his sword. 

Call. I am loth to revenge, but thus called 

upon [Callanda draws. 

[The door of the Cottage hastily opens; 
Leonora jmshes between them, Vincent 
clings to Valentia. 

Ijeon. Spare our deliverer ! Save the preserver 

of my brother — Callanda, it is Leonora sues to you ! 

[Throwing off her hat. 

Call, [the sword falls from Call and a's hand] 
Leonora ! blessed chance ! unlooked for happiness ! 
Mariana has informed me of all. Can you, Sir, 
forgive ? Can I make any atonement ? 

[Turning to Valentia. 

Val. I gave the offensive word ; I crave your 
pardon, I solicit your friendship. 

Call. And this lost treasure restored to our 
hopes ! [Embracing Vincent. 

Vin. Yes, it is the good Valentia who has saved 
me ! 

Call. Sweet cherub ! I am overpowered with 
gratitude to this gentleman, with surprise, with joy ! 



A MELODRAMA. 255 

Rod. I can't help it, but I don't think I shall 
have an eye to see with, when I get home again. 

Call. Leonora, I have most agreeable news for 
you respecting the Count. 

Leon. Ah ! do not flatter me. 

Call. No, not for the world ! You must pre- 
serve your disguise a little longer — we all shall 
very soon be in our proper places. 

Rod. Ah ! dear me, I think I see my wife 
again. 

Vin. Do not cry, Roddy, you have not been so 
long lost as I have. 

Enter hastily, Sandino and others. 

San. Good luck, your honor ! I have had a fine 
gallop after you, for the old mule would not conde- 
scend to come down the mountain. [Sandino, per- 
ceiving Valentia is extravagantly delighted] By 
all the fish in the salt ocean, your honor, this is the 
very gentleman ! Od's my life, my dear boy ! 
how d'ye do ? [Hugging him. 

Val. Well met, my honest friend, well met ! 

Call. Well met, indeed ! Fortune, Leonora, is 
showering her favours round us. 

San. The paper is quite safe, my master under- 
stands it. 

Val. We will talk of that hereafter, friend. 

[Moving to him to be silent. 

Call. I believe, Sir, I can be of great use to you 
in many respects. 

[Callanda and Valentia retire. 



%56 MISS BETSY BULL: 

San. [approaching Leonora] Pray, Sir, can 
you tell me who this young master is ? 

Leon. Wait a little, my friend, and your master 
will inform you. 

San. Does he belong to my friend there ? 

Vin. Do you mean me ? I belong to the great 
and the good, and so do you. 

[Looking up to Heaven. 

Rod. Ah ! there's the mystery. 

Callanda and Valentia coming forward. 

Call. Friends, we must now proceed in all haste 
— one short turn on the left of the mountain will 
bring us direct to the well-known inn of Casteretto, 
where our party is likely to be increased. Our 
mules are well laden. 

Rod. Oh dear ! I shall see my wife again. 

Call. Valentia, you will guard Leonora, whilst 
I command my troops here. [Moving. 

San. My dear boy, I will be your mule, and now 
you belong to me. 

[Hastily taking Vincent in his arms. 

Vin. Take care then. [A loud firing. 

Rod. Aye, pray don't go near the Johnnies — 
when I think of Miss Betsy Bull, I always begin to 
quake like an aspen leaf. [Exeunt. 



A MELODRAMA. 2 51 



SCENE II. — A Room in an Inn; Count Oviedo 
meeting Lopez. 

Oviedo. Have you seen nothing of Callanda and 
his train yet ? 

Lopez. No, your honor, I dare say they have 
been robbed, or murdered instead of us. 
Oviedo. Good ! 

Lopez. Or, perhaps, as his honor is fond of a 
little argumentation, he stopped at the last post, to 
give the mules a lecture. 

Oviedo. I cannot imagine how we could possibly 
miss each other. 

Lopez. Nothing more easy, my lord, where 
there are so many cross roads — you took one turn, 
and he took another — thus it is with man, and wife, 
if they do not go hand, in hand, why then, your 
honor, they are sure to get wrong. 

Oviedo. Apropos of that subject ; what wouldst 
thou do, what would'st thou think, suppose thou 
wert going to be married to-morrow, that is to say, 
expected, invited, to be married 1 

Lopez. Think, my Lord? I think — indeed if that 
were my case, whether it is from living so long in 
your honor's service, for they say, like master like 
man, I think I should be inclined to look at the 
bottom of the ocean first. 

Oviedo. This is much my way of considering 
the business. 



258 MISS BETSY B U I*L *. 

Enter hastily Callanda. 

Call. Have I at last overtaken you ? 

Oviedo. Thank kind fortune you are safe I but 
what has detained you so long ? 

Call. Verily, I believe, not less than fifty mira- 
culous adventures — but I hasten to apprise you, that 
on entering this house I met an express from Don 
Sebastian — the whole family will meet us very 
speedily, they are not two miles distant. 

Oviedo. Not two miles distant ! distraction ! 

Call. What now ? 

Oviedo. Can he have received my letter of re- 
jection which I sent not many hours ago ? 

Call. Of course, that is one reason of his tra- 
velling so fast ; so now prepare yourself, Heaven 
knows with what temper of mind he may meet you. 
But possibly you regret that you wrote at all, and 
now wish to fulfil your engagement. 

Oviedo. Yes, by taking to my heels. 

Call. Pray what do you suppose will be the 
consequence of your conduct to Leonora ? 

Oviedo. Death, or a fever at least. 

Call. And you feel no compunction for this 
diabolical conduct ? 

Oviedo. Patience, patience ! Do I command, or 
even solicit, the ladies to love me ? 

Call. True, true — I had forgotten, it is that 
charming person of yours — it is nature we must 
condemn. [Looking at him from head to foot. 

Oviedo. You never said any thing better in your 
life, I certainly am not to blame. 



A MELO-DRAMA. 259 

Call. You have no idea that the lady can pos- 
sibly prefer any other ? 
Oviedo. Pshaw ! you really grow quite an old woman. 

Call. It may be so, and I have brought an old 
woman's story with me, that will not a little surprise 
you. In the first place to begin, the charming 
Leonora has really run away 

Oviedo. To meet me of course. 

Call. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha ! 

Oviedo. Why the man is mad ! 

Call. Don Sebastian is in pursuit, despairing 
and distracted, having as yet no tidings. 

Oviedo. But hopes to find her in my arms ? 

Call. Ha, ha, ha! I presume you have heard 
of the house of Valentia ? 

Oviedo. Some years ago I was very intimate 
with the heir at law. 

Call. Ha, ha, ha ! There are several families of 
that name. 

Oviedo. Will you be pleased to go on with your 
old woman's story. 

Call. Certainly, certainly ! Well, Leonora, in 
her flight to the Convent of La Guarda, where she 
intended to take the veil, to escape everlastingly a 
marriage with the Count Oviedo, accidentally met 
with this same Valentia ; [Oviedo shrugs up his 
shoulders in unbelief] he has twice rescued her 
from the hovering banditti at the risk of his life. 

Oviedo. Poor fellow ! I ought to thank him. 

Call. And more than that, he has discovered, 
has saved her only brother, the long-lost hope of a 
glorious line of ancestors ! 
s 2 



260 MISS BETSY BULL! 

Oviedo. Ha, ha, ha ! pray go on. 

Call. You may very well imagine, that the 
amiable Leonora has, in consequence, become very 
much interested in the person to whom she and her 
family are so much obliged. 

Oviedo. Gratitude, of course, for so many benefits. 

Call. Added to this she returns to her father, 
bringing her brother in her hand, to solicit a recom- 
pense for the brave Valentia — the reward she intends 
him is her own incomparable self. 

Oviedo. Excellent ! excellent ! Egad you shall 
write a second Don Quixote : pray go on. 

Call. This young man, on returning from his 
native country was shipwrecked ; he has also brought 
tidings of the family of the lord Alvarez. You 
may perhaps recollect, that Leonora was once be- 
trothed to the son of the exiled lord, but as it has 
been presumed that he never will return to Spain — 

Oviedo. As he died last year ; young Valentia 
appears very opportunely to take the field, and de 
camp with the lady ; why you have the merit of 
winding up a novel, without fatiguing one with 
half a dozen volumes. 

Call. There still remains for one of the heroes 
of the romance another adventure — what do you say, 
then, to a rencontre with Don Sebastian, as he has 
received your letter, informing him that you decline 
fulfilling your engagement with his daughter ? 

Oviedo. I shall certainly return immediately, 
there is no occasion for me to proceed any farther. 

[Going. 

Call. Ha, ha, ha ! what without the lady ? — 

\a noise without] — Sure Don Sebastian is even now 



A MELODRAMA. 26 1 

arriving — [more noise] — what a confusion ! it almost 
makes me tremble. Ha, ha, ha ! 

[Exit hastily Count O vie do one way, Don 
Callanda another. 



SCENE III.— Another Apartment at the Inn — 
Donna Sebastian and Mariana meeting. 

Donna Seb. Dear Mariana, I still tremble for the 
event — I begin to shudder at the very danger of the 
Count's situation, for after all, it is to him that we 
are the most obliged. 

Mar. Yes, but the reason and eloquence of 
Callanda must prevail, besides, if they do draw 
swords on each other, we must step in between. 

Donna Seb. Dear Leonora ! had you trusted in 
Providence, flight, it is evident, had been quite un- 
necessary. 

Mar. Believe me, it is all for the best, and a 
correction Don Sebastian most required ; and now 
that we are assured from Callanda that she is safe. 

[Noise without. 

Donna Seb. I hear Don Sebastian in a great 
rage. Heaven preserve my child ! 

Enter Don Sebastian, Servant following. 

Don Seb. Where is the villain ? where is the 
Count Oviedo? 

Servant. He is this moment setting off, Sir. 

Don Seb. Stop him, stop him, instantly, or your 
life pays the forfeit — deprived of both my children 



262 



MISS BETSY BULL'. 



— insulted and betrayed — I will tear him to atoms ! 
Villain ! villain ! where is the Count Oviedo ? 

[Stamping with rage. 

Enter hastily Count Oviedo, C ah atsi> a following. 

Oviedo. [as he enters] Who calls the Count 
Oviedo ? 

Don Seb. Draw, and give me the satisfaction of 
a gentleman ! 

Call. Hear me one moment, I entreat you, Se- 
bastian, as a man of honor I beseech you hear me. 

Don Seb. Quickly explain, what is it you would 
say ? My rage knows no bounds ! 

Call. This gentleman feels the most sincere con- 
trition, he is ready to fulfil his engagement, and to 
beg your pardon ; he was not himself when he wrote 
that letter. Spare his life I beseech you ! 

[Don Sebastian draws. 
Don Seb. I receive no apology, I parley not 
with him who insults me : draw, Sir ! 

Call. Make a public example of him, only 
spare his life. 

Don Seb. Draw, villain ! Villain ! do you hear 
that word ? 

Oviedo. Ha, villain ! it is enough ! have at you, 
then ! [ They both draw. 

[Callanda ?noves to one side of the Stage. 
Enter running the young Vincent elegantly 
dressed, he throws himself on his knees before 
Sebastian ; Valentia follows in disguise 
— the sword falls from the hand of Sebas- 
tian — Donna Sebastian faints, and 
Mariana supports her. 



A MEIO-DRAMA. 263 

Vin. Papa, papa ! let this be a day of peace ! 

I have at last found my dear papa ! [Clasping him. 

Don Seb. Oh ! unlooked-for joy ! Do I dream ? 

A day of peace indeed! It is my long-lost boy, it is 

my Vincent ! 

Vin. Mama, mama ! look up, my dear, dear 
mama ! 

Donna Seb. [recovering] It is, indeed, my Vin- 
cent ! my long lost child, my Vincent ! 

[Embracing him. 
Vin. It was that good gentleman, papa, [point- 
ing to Valentia] who saved me from the gypsies, 
and they have almost killed him. 

Don Seb. Oh ! generous stranger ! I want words 

now to express all I feel, but 

Donna Seb. Words are vain ; when, where, how 
was it ? what can we do to acknowledge ? 

Ovieclo. [apart] I suppose I may now very 
quietly put up this little instrument. 

[Putting up his sword. 
Val. To be accessary to so much happiness, is 
more a cause of rejoicing to myself than can be 
supposed. 

Donna Seb. Tell us, Callanda, all the story. 
Call. This generous stranger, having been ship- 
wrecked, was travelling towards his native place, 
was attacked by some of the gypsey tribe, and 
pursuing them into their deep retreats, he found 
him there, and rescued him at the peril of his 
life. 

Donna Seb. Oh, Leonora ! were you but here at 
this moment. 



264 MISS BETSY bull: 

Don Seb. Am I, indeed, restored to one child, 
only to mourn the loss of another ? 

Call. To this same generous stranger, you are 
still more indebted, your daughter was on the point 
of taking refuge in a convent; on her way thither, 
she was preserved from many dangers by this pro- 
tecting hand — she waits your forgiveness. 

Donna and Don Seb. How shall we ever suf- 
ficiently reward you ? 
• Call. Let Leonora name his reward. 

[Exit Call and a. 

Vol. Generous friends, my reward is your hap- 
piness. 

Re-enter Callanda, leading in Leonora elegantly 
attired. 

Leon. My father, have I your forgiveness 1 my 

mother, pardon ■ 

[Embracing Donna Sebastian. 
Don. Seb. My injured child, forgive your father! 
[Embracing Leonora. 
Mar. Oh ! the wonder, I expected the wonder. 
[Mariana embraces Leonora. 
Val. Oh day that pays me for a world of suf- 
fering ! [Callanda and the Count converse. 
Don Sebas. Noble stranger ! let me know your 
story, and if there be anything within the power of 
my fortune, that I promise ! 

Val. Alas ! I fear to ask too much. 
Don Seb. Impossible ! 



A MELODRAMA. 265 

Val. But I am paid a thousand, and a thousand 
times ! fortune has frowned, 'tis true 

Donna Seb. But if it is not painful to relate — 

Don Seb. Let us hear to whom we are so much 
obliged. 

Val. Courage, my heart*! indeed, my friends, 
my case is one of every day. My father, suffice to 
say, was once the favourite of the state, and he had 
merit strong enough to raise him enemies in place ; 
in times like these, his wisdom and his worth might 
have availed his country much, but domineering 
faction, as you know, had seized the helm, and 
party rage confounding all the plans of better 
policy, weak heads, with strong armed hands, per- 
verting solid judgment's just decrees, he fell, that 
might have freed his country from the dominion of 
usurping foes, and he was banished, innocent of 
all offence — his undeserved misfortunes, proved 
my bane — I hence was banished from the very 
presence of her to whom I was betrothed ; [Do?i 
Sebastian walks about in an agitated manner] and 
in the impulse of despair, I bound myself to 
harshest slavery and toil, hoping, perhaps, the 
body's sufferings, might blunt the keener tortures of 
the mind ! 

[Mariana draws chairs, Leonora sits. 

Oviedo. [to Callandra] The supplement, 
eh? 

Val. Fallacious hope ! tho' my commander 
proved like the power with which he buffeted, a 
power that never yielded to distress, tho' storms 
beset us and war our course impeded, I only dreamt 



26*6 MISS BETSY bull: 

of broken promises and faith betrayed ! they called 
me valiant, for foremost still I pressed, wounds 
dealing, death hailing, death thirsting after ! yet 
largely as he dealt his shafts around, still, still my 
course was spared ; oh ! wherefore, Heaven, I often 
would inquire — but I trespass on your patience. 

Donna Seb. Proceed, I intreat you, Sir. 

Veil. We crossed the wide Atlantic — I escaped 
the fever in yon Western isles, which crops so many 
of our country's pride ; and in returning to my native 
land, when all around me perished in the storm that 
wrecked our vessel, 'twas strange, I thought, that I 
was still preserved ! was it to save your house, 
Sebastian ? was it that that Supreme, that All-direct- 
ing power had predetermined my revenge, and you 
the chastisement of mercy ? He has, indeed, re- 
venged ! he has rewarded, the injured Alfonso 
Roderigo Valentia di Guadarama, lord of Alvarez ! 
[Valentia throws off his disguise, and appears 
splendidly drest] Leonora, I can die content. 

[Leonora faints, Mariana supports her. 

Don Seb. Oh, hide me ! spare me ! 

Donna Seb. Alfonso ! dear Alfonso ! Is it to 
the injured Alfonso, that I am indebted for the pre- 
servation of both my children ? 

[Leonora recovering. 

Vin. Yes, indeed, and indeed, mama ! 

Don Seb. Can you forgive the man who yet has 
never kneeled to any one on earth ? [kneeling] In- 
jured Alfonso, can you forgive me ? 

Alfonso Val. Rise, rise my lord, the past is now 
forgotten. 



A MELODRAMA. 267 

Leon. Oh ! my father, what a day is this ! 
[Don Sebastian joins the hands of Alfonso 
and Leonora. 

Call. How do you like the old woman's story ? 
[to Oviedo] you see, you are of mighty import- 
ance to the piece. 

Oviedo. Who is that pretty girl, who talks so 
gravely to my late intended ? 

Call. You are in love with her, I presume ? 

Oviedo. Rather she with me, by her side glances. 

Call. What not yet corrected ? ha, ha, ha ! that 
lady and I are to be married to-morrow, and so now 
you may go back as you came, solus. 

Oviedo. Ho, ho ! is it so, Mr. Benedict ? well, 
good bye to you, then ; good bye, dear ladies. 

Oviedo sings. 

Oh ! when one love doth run away, 

Doth run away, d^ye see, 
There is another, there is another, 

Another will have me ! 

I lost my heart with Miss Betsy Bull, 

And fifteen stone weighed she, 
And yet, all solid as she was, 

She ran away from me ! 

I lost my heart, with a French ma'm'selle, 

And four foot two was she ; 
I lost my heart, with a Spanish girl, 

But it came back to me ! 



268 MISS BETSY BULL. 

Oh ! who would be the fool to grieve 

For only one, d'ye see, 
When there's a dozen poor damsels sighing, 
Weeping, wailing, sighing, 

Dying, dying all for me ! 

[The Curtain falls, as Count Oviedo is going 
out. 



CONCLUDING REMARKS. 



W ITH all due deference to that most sapient, 
and, certainly, most useful class of the literary 
world, the critics, the writers of reviews, &c, I have 
to observe, that, perhaps, there are few authors or 
artists, who on coolly considering any work they may 
have finished, cannot perceive its defects, equally 
with those whose occupation is criticism. Grant, 
indeed, that the genius of the artist is one thing, 
and the judgment of the critic another; yet no- 
thing in this world is so easy, as to descry existing 
defect ; it is true, too, that the will to perform is 
having only half the power to execute, and that in 
possessing the skill to take away a bad agent, we 
often want address to supply a better. Again, as 
every good action is susceptible of vicious inter- 
pretation, inspected through the microscopes of 
" envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness," 
so will there be parts in the most brilliant works 
susceptible of the shafts of misrepresentation, ridi- 
cule, and condemnation : — 

The sun has specks, which every fool may see, 
Yet, in these seeking, he will dazzled be. 



270 CONCLUDING REMARKS. 

Sometimes a poor author flatters himself that the 
errors which he himself perceives, may escape the 
notice of others ; this is, of all hopes, the most 
vain ; he feels he is not expected to lay before the 
public an account of his own discrepancies ; never- 
theless he may be assured, that there is no chance 
of escape for him, but in the very nothingness of 
his performance — he has entered a field where there 
is no respect of persons, no extra complaisance to- 
wards the lady-candidates. For myself, screened 
in the panoply of my own conscious insignificance, 
I presume on escaping all fearful condemnation ; 
unless, indeed, there should happen to be an un- 
heard-of barren season in the land of letters, then, 
perhaps, for mere idle pastime, and in something 
like vexation of spirit that nothing better has 
blossomed on the bourn, they will run over the 
pages, and say of 

KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 

" The author of this Comedy, I suppose we must 
call it, has, at least, been very happy in the choice 
of a title to her work, and we hope she will keep 
her temper, whilst we condescend to make a few 
remarks on her Play, the end of which has cer- 
tainly no correspondence with the beginning ; we 
are led from the first scene to presume a conse- 
quence from the sanguine expectations of a young, 



CONCLUDING REMARKS. 271 

ardent, and impassioned mind, entering with avidity 
the great world, of which it had formed to itself 
ideas, perhaps, of the most extravagant kind : but 
of the expected moral, of the disappointments we 
had looked for, of the accomplishment of an 
anxious father's predictions, we find nothing ; it is 
true that these predictions flow rather from the 
consciousness of guilt in the bosom of the parent, 
from the dread, that usually attends evil deeds, of 
their punishment, than from a just apprehension of 
the dangers of the gay world — we suspect she 
sat down with the idea of manufacturing some- 
thing of this sort, but getting entangled on 
the outset, not knowing how to proceed in, much 
less finish, the projected course, she has turned 
into another road, and brought us by a cross- 
path into a common-place sort of love story. 
There is also an under-plot, which seems a little 
irrelevant to the first design, though it certainly 
winds in, and connects tolerably with the second ; 
Sir John Aubrette undertakes to correct the failings 
of his wife, by preserving his patience, his temper 
unchanged, his perseverance unrelaxing ; he cer- 
tainly would convince us, that by constantly op 
posing capricious folly with reason, and good 
humour, we may in the end correct it ; yet finally 
it is not so much all this which effectually produces 
the desired change, as the supposed self-destruction 
of young Gilbert — we felt ourselves rather alarmed 
at the liberal use our author makes of pistols, they 



272 CONCLUDING REMARKS. 

are lying about, tumbling down, and cracking off 
at every corner ; it gave us some regret, too, to find 
the Bow Street officers called in amongst a party of 
happy young lovers, but she, no doubt, thinks pre- 
vention better than cure, and to guard a lady from 
being run away with, a more consistent measure 
than sending an armed force after the party, when, 
perhaps, eighty miles on the road to Gretna ; and 
as after all these official gentlemen did not appear, 
being in previous requisition, we suppose we must 
not say any more on that subject — the servants are 
a very busy set of people, who pretend to have a 
great deal to do, whilst in reality they do nothing ; 
this we will admit frequently occurs in great houses 
— two of them, we presume, are near relations, they 
appear to have precisely the same sort of tastes and 
habits, particularly that of making long speeches, 
nobody being present to hear them. 

But let us proceed to the most remarkable part of 
this publication, the Introductory Discourse ; the 
dead man's commendation of this comedy ; surely 
this part of the story supersedes anything, and 
everything that ever came from the living ; we do 
not pretend to say that such a letter never was re- 
ceived, but at the best, we can only call it an error 
of judgment ; we are, however, completely shut out 
from all inquiry into the truth in this case, and 
certainly the author would have been equally safe 
with us, had the name of this complimentary 



CONCLUDING REMARKS. 2?3 

manager been given, so indisputable it is, that the 
grave is silent, that no reference can be taken in 
such a court, no cheat of this kind discovered, 
which, after all, is, as we have already said, a mere 
matter of opinion; the concluding part of the 
eulogium, no doubt the very best, is suppressed ; 
this may be called a little affectation of modesty — 
we might as well have had the whole story, for 
availing ourselves of her own very a-propos simile, 
how should quacks sell their medicines, unless they 
can give us certain proofs that Mrs. Brown, Mrs. 
Black, &c, have swallowed their pills — we have 
not time to waste in continuing to point out a 
hundred other faults which we perceive ; we will, 
therefore, take our leave of this article, by candidly 
saying that we do not think the reading of it will 
poison any body's mind, and if it is trash, it is not 
spun out into four long volumes ; finally, whatever 
we chuse to say, the author seems determined to 
respect herself and her work, possibly on account 
of some motives which have led her to appear 
before the public, and with which she may think 
we have as little to do as she with the Reform 
Bill. 

One word more ; it is not by turning my own 
censurer that I politically presume to evade other 
critique ; no ! but severity itself must acknowledge, 
that to perceive one's defects, to be sensible of one's 
errors, to confess one's failings, are proofs of being 



274 CONCLUDING REMARKS. 

not altogether incorrigible ; it is giving a hope of 
being more successful in future ; verily, it is the 
first step on the high road to improvement ! 



OF 

THE FATE OF IVAN. 

The writer of an historical play, tho' he has his 
subject prepared for him, experiences, perhaps, 
more difficulty to perfect his work, than one who 
pourtrays from his imagination solely ; or than one 
who draws from some ready-made romance. If he 
attach himself to the truth, in which the virtue of 
the historic page consists, he almost necessarily 
deviates from the rules prescribed to dramatic 
writers, and, consequently, may become defective in 
stage effect, in interest, and in execution. If, on 
the contrary, he here give the reins to his fancy, 
he may be stigmatized for his disregard of plain 
facts, and contempt of the supreme certainty of 
past positive existence. For my own part, I have 
adhered very closely to the plain matter of fact 
throughout ; probably, because I found it most con- 
venient — in one or two unimportant circumstances, 
I have deviated — as, for instance, I have sent Baron 
Korf to the fortress of Schusselberg with Prince 
Ivan, and thought I might allow him to die there, 



CONCLUDING REMARKS. 275 

for most authors say, it is very uncertain what did 
become of him ; but from his very great age, it 
may be inferred that he did not long survive the 
revolution — with regard to the ignorance of Princess 
DashkofF respecting Catharine's amours, it is well 
known that the Empress long succeeded in de- 
ceiving her nearest friends on these subjects, and 
that the Princess DashkofF, tho' the principal actress 
in the revolution, tho 5 , in every other respect, the 
confidante of Catharine, had not for a length of 
time any suspicion of the private intrigues of the 
court. The visit of the Czar to Prince Ivan, is 
treated almost verbatim, and the councils were 
called at Peterhoff in train as narrated. 

The personages of the drama are more in number 
than necessary to the piece, as, however, those I 
have introduced were actual performers in the plots 
of the day, I was unwilling to deny them a place 
in the present representation. 



276 CONCLUDING It EM AUKS. 



MISS BETSY BULL; or, THE JOHNNIES 
IN SPAIN. 

This little piece may, perhaps, be remarked for 
the very great rapidity of the incident, which does 
not allow the interest to pause for a moment. The 
third scene of the first act may be considered tame, 
but with spirited acting might not be tedious. The 
introduction of the gypsies accords well with the 
localities of Spain, that country being overrun with 
those wandering tribes. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




014 494 941 9 



